


Monster

by VeryBadMau



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abuse, Animal Sacrifice, Death, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/F, F/M, Force Feeding, Gang Rape, Gruesome Death, Horror, Misogyny, Mutilation, Not a Love Story, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Strangulation, Strong Language, Tragedy, Violence, racial fetishization, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryBadMau/pseuds/VeryBadMau
Summary: When Mai set foot on the shores of Pegasus' island, all she wanted was information about her late cousin, Cecelia. It was her misfortune Pegasus took a fondness to their resemblance. Chained to a cell, Mai wonders what he has planned, and just why is Isis Ishtar helping him? Frankenstein AU. Non-con Refineshipping, Roseshipping and Sightshipping; Dub-con Visionshipping





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I haven't written any horror since... 2015? On a different account, no less. I think this story will soon explain why. If you want a fun, light-hearted, saccharine read, this is NOT the story you want.
> 
> This fic was sparked by an anonymous user on tumblr who asked about Cecelia and Mai's resemblance, which in turn led to old fan theories I had formed when I was younger, and then it all spiraled out of control and became Monster. 
> 
> I confess that while it was an interesting idea that gave me an opportunity to experiment with both my writing and my photoshop skills doing all the art for this story, I'm “happy” to get this all out of my head. Though I do hope you all “enjoy” it if you are in the mood for something macabre this Halloween season. Once again, there is no fluff to be found here.
> 
> I will be using the dub names for most of the cast in this story, as it goes along the vein of the dub version's plot in Pegasus wanting to use the Millennium Items to revive Cecelia. I have, however, kept all the Ishtar's names as they were in the original (ie: Isis, Malik) because I like them better, and Isis' name has more significance to the subject matter.
> 
> Lastly, as Ao3 gives us the lovely hyperlink feature, I have intermittent background music posted throughout the story that I felt suited the atmosphere for particular scenes. If you're interested in the “soundtrack”, I recommend clicking on the links after an initial reading so it's not too distracting and you'll likely have a better feeling for the lyrics/musical composition inline with what was written. If you're not interested or just don't care, then don't worry 'bout it and read on.
> 
> Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! and its characters are copy-written to Kazuki Takahashi and Konami.
> 
> Warnings: Strong language, vulgarity, sexual content, violence, abuse, force feeding, misogyny, racial fetishization, strangulation, drugging, non-con, dub-con, animal sacrifice, allusion to gang rape, licentious Lovecraftian creatures, mutilation, mention of suicide, and gruesome depictions of major character deaths. You may feel the need to take a shower to feel “clean” during and/or after reading, and might acquire an aversion to red jams after the third chapter. I apologize in advance if that is the case.
> 
> So, now that you know what you're getting into... Let's get started.

__

 

 _No hesitation_  
_No heart of gold_  
_Just flesh and blood_  
_I do not know (I do not know)_  
_From my heart and from my hand_  
_Why don't people understand_  
_My intentions?_

 

Weird Science, _Oingo Boingo_

 

**I**

 

Mai squeezed a long, manicured fingernail underneath the titanium cuff on her wrist, scratching at the flesh beneath the metal as the chains clinked with the motion. She wasn't entirely certain if the itch was due to the residual water from her previous shower or if it was due to her own sweat, not that it mattered much at this point. She sighed and ran her hands through her tousled blonde hair, arching her back away from the bed and groaning when she felt one of her vertebrae pop from the stretch. The small ties on the white lace chemise tickled her back, a design more akin to a hospital gown than sleeping attire. There was an ache behind her violet eyes, and she squeezed them shut to dull the sensory assault of light bouncing off the white padded cell.

 

[This wasn't at all what she imagined.](https://youtu.be/TcQgEfb4Vj4)

 

When Mai had set foot on the shores of Pegasus' island, all she wanted was information about what was left of her family. For as far back as she could remember, she was alone. She saw blank slates where her parents' faces should have been. Aunts or uncles were nonexistent or outright refused to get involved, the butlers and maids no more than passing ghosts in the halls of the lavish Victorian home that had been left to her in the inheritance, the house she eventually had to sell. If she could do things over again—

 

Well, there was a lot she wanted to do over again. If she had a dollar for every regret she had, perhaps she wouldn't have needed to get a job with the cruise liner when she blew her fortune in her wild teens. Perhaps she wouldn't have needed to play Duel Monsters, wouldn't have gotten involved in the tournaments, wouldn't have gained recognition in the Western circuits, wouldn't have opened that letter from Maximillion Pegasus that spoke in equal parts praise and promise.

 

She reached over to the nightstand next to her bed and opened the drawer, picking out a single card, what rested on top of her deck.

 

The Harpie Lady Sisters, her only family until recent happenstance.

 

She had been vaguely aware of a distant relative in Las Vegas, someone on her father's side, the owner of the very cruise line of which she had worked and the sire of a daughter she had not known of until a little over a month ago: a cousin, Cecelia. Their resemblance was uncanny; the picture included with Pegasus' letter was almost as though she had been staring at a funhouse mirror, seeing her own face without the prior hardships, wondering if she would have looked that soft had she not lost her parents all that time ago. It was uplifting and unnerving in the same breadth. Yet Mai couldn't help but think in hindsight that there had been a sadness under her cousin's eyes in that photograph, like a person who wanted to cry but couldn't produce the tears. In that, she supposed they were quite similar.

 

A wiser person would have been more skeptical of such eerie likeness, questioned the notion of being invited so openly from a wealthy stranger. Yet the years of desperation, of loneliness, of solitude, the knowledge that she had _some_ family out there, a heritage not of cardboard or holograms, but of flesh and blood, made her heart cry out and deafened the sirens in her head.

 

 _Sirens_.

 

“Wish I'd listened to you,” Mai murmured. Her pink lips, healthy and luscious, but bare of her usual makeup, moved against the faces on the card, an act in comfort and deference. They weren't all that powerful on their own, but power alone does not win battles. They covered their bodies with layers of armor to bear any blow, equipped themselves with whips to strike from a distance, and bared their talons to carve whatever got too close; they were forces to be reckoned with when backed by savvy strategy and ironclad tactics, a solid game plan. The Harpies understood her better than any person. A sharp wit and a bulletproof will kept you alive.

 

An open mind and an exposed heart got you killed.

 

_Gets you captured._

 

But the temptation of family, of knowing she wasn't entirely alone, was greater than the voices coming from her deck. The fact that she was having small chats with the stiff slips of paper more often than not was enough proof that she needed to get out more, and how could she resist an all expenses paid trip to a private island in the Pacific to meet her cousin of such striking resemblance?

 

“ _I am_ terribly _loathe to inform you that my wife is not quite in the condition to receive you at this moment, but worry not, Miss Valentine! You will have the opportunity to meet her in good time. If you'll come along this way...”_

 

Pegasus had been amicable at first, and she knew it was an act (she'd learned enough from prior experience with patrons on the cruise liner), but she'd been willing to endure the false pleasantries and praise if it meant she could meet Cecelia after the formal tour of the island. She had tolerated his rambling, his soliloquies, his fanciful diction and eccentricities. She had brushed off his curious, lingering glances and the upward turn in the corner of his lip as he spoke, a hunger therein she chose not to acknowledge. She always had that effect on men.

 

So she thought.

 

_No good will come of that castle._

 

Mai still wasn't sure if it had been the voice in her head or the voice of the Sisters speaking when she laid eyes on the ominous stonework at the top of the mount. Was there a difference at this point? The loneliness had changed her in more ways that one, and she had spent the last year in desperation to rid herself of the mania. For her to have any inkling to a lineage aside from illustrations and coding made her chest swell with hope, the ache in her heart drowning out the pounding of logic in her skull.

 

“ _Oooh, how foolish of me! In my haste to contact you, and amidst all the excitement of today's activities, I forgot to mention_ one _detail_ _in regards to_ _your cousin_ _. It's not all that_ serious _, but..._ ”

 

All her hopes and expectations had been dashed the moment Pegasus showed her the portrait in the tower, but she didn't have long to be disappointed in learning Cecelia had been deceased for seven years before the guards poured through the door and seized her. Her last memory of Pegasus was of his stupid, smug face, blowing her a kiss over his wine glass and waving goodbye with the waggling of his fingers as the guards dragged her away, kicking and screaming, to the dungeons beneath. When she heard him give the command with the snap of his fingers, she conjured the image of rusty chains and drab stone walls, iron bars and bones littered across the floor, lit torches in the halls and a stench that would make one's head spin.

 

Even in that, Pegasus skewed her expectations.

 

Her eyes traced the corners of the cell, tidy padded walls and a neatly tiled floor bearing an iridescent sheen. It was the same pearly cut as what covered the interior of her bathroom, a sink and tub of smooth porcelain while her shower consisted of a polished, peppery granite. Mai's fingers ran along the plush lining of her king-sized mattress, supposedly a Swedish-crafted import of hand-stitched flax and cotton stuffed with horsehair, along with matching pillows. They didn't give her any sheets or pillow cases, however.

 

That one guard with the creepy sunglasses and porno 'stache, Croquet, said something about not wanting her to strangle herself, as if she had the option. There were no anchors for her to tie them to, as her bed didn't have a frame; it rested on the floor. Her nightstand lacked legs as it was a solid, minimalist piece of white marble that was bolted to the floor. There were no windows to jump from since she was underground, and she had no significant reach to the cell's door, stopping two meters before the black marble bars when her titanium chains were at full extension.

 

All that was missing from her upscale Bedlam Asylum studio apartment was a kitchenette, but all her food was prepared for her: three square meals of fresh fruits, vegetables, duck or goose meat depending on the day, a dessert of sweet bread with honey, a cup of beer at lunch and red wine at dinner (the beer was supposedly brewed by German monks while the wine came from a convent north of Rome), along with water upon request. Had it been under another circumstance, Mai had it better here than she did at any Four Seasons.

 

She wiggled her finger under the cuff at her ankle, scratching at her Achilles tendon with a grimace and hugging the Sisters to her chest. She was being kept like a prized canary in a cage, but she was no canary. Mai was not a songbird, not a dainty thing that existed to be put on display and admired for its pretty colors while it swang on a perch and tittered for treats. She was a raptor, a bird of prey, built to soar and impose her will on those who dared to challenge her, and no amount of plush accommodations or forged chains would change that nature. She wasn't going to sing for anyone.

 

She wondered, briefly, if her cousin had ever felt the same way.

 

The reverie was short-lived as she saw the suited guards on either side of her cell stiffen at the sound of jangling metal, the distinct ringing of gold. Mai lifted her torso from the bed and placed the Sisters back into the nightstand with a curled lip.

 

The witch doctor was in.

 

“Miss Ishtar,” Mai heard one of the guards whisper. The exchange was brief and Mai couldn't decipher anything else under the hushed tone. The witch doctor apparently wasn't very happy with whatever was said, because Mai heard a long, familiar sigh, and imagined her shaking her head and placing a hand on her hip with the expression. Mai detested that woman's voice, always a soft, serene tone that conjured the image of spring water at an oasis, but there was something else clinging to the edges, a chill lurking beneath that she could never shake.

 

A sound she could never trust.

 

Mai propped herself on her elbows and tucked her chin into her chest, crossing her legs at the ankles as she stared from the other side of the cell, waiting for the witch doctor to walk into view. What costume would she have on today?

 

Blonde eyebrows perked with the pursing of her lips, looking the Egyptian woman up and down.

 

Well, well, it was the cop outfit. Mai hadn't seen her in that number for a while.

 

She stood out against the white backdrop of the hallway, dressed in black from head to toe, a shade that matched the woman's hair and made it hard to tell where clothing ended and raven strands began. Laced, stiletto-heeled boots that reached to her knees clicked against the floor while black stockings hugged supple tan things and stayed in place with the help of gold garters engraved with ankh and water lily motifs. At her waist was a utility belt, and Mai questioned the functionality of the solid gold handcuffs clipped at her hip.

 

Her body was wrapped with a stark tube dress, outlining a trim hourglass figure as she sported a pair of gloves, and it was then Mai noticed there was a clipboard in her hands. The cuffs of the gloves ended with a thin band of gold encircling her deltoids, emphasizing the fine toning of her bronze shoulders. The stiff rim of her police hat hovered over a pair of pilot sunglasses, a brilliant gradient of red and yet even more gold, an obnoxious contrast against the black adorning her lips. Mai couldn't help but focus on that damned necklace she always wore, ornamented with that same unnerving eye that was in Pegasus's head. All things considered, the two were probably part of some creepy cult.

 

What was different today, however, was that the witch doctor's jaw kept moving in circular motions while she kept her mouth closed. Mai quickly realized she was chewing on a piece of gum as she leaned in and placed her gloved hands through the slots in the cell entrance. The clipboard dangled from her left hand as she held a silver pen in her right, resting her forearms on the horizontal supports. She blew a small, pale pink bubble and preemptively popped it with an audible bite, a flash of white teeth before the frowning black lips took their place.

 

Well, she was _really_ getting into the role today, wasn't she?

 

Fine, if that's what she was in the mood for.

 

 

“Is there a problem, _officer_?” Mai asked coquettishly, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder with a whip of her head.

 

“The guards tell me you haven't touched any of your food today,” said the witch doctor, unamused.

 

Then again, the witch doctor was never amused.

 

Mai placed her hand to her chest as though offended by the accusation.

 

“Untrue, officer!” Mai whooped. “I worked very hard today to make a sculpture of you and Pegasus out of my potatoes.” Mai took a plastic fork from underneath her pillow and made a show of picking at her teeth with one of the prongs. The white plastic utensil was so flimsy, that's all it was good for. She had learned that on her first day when she tried to pick the locks on her bonds with no success.

 

“Unfortunately, I had to abandon the project.”

 

“We cannot provide you with metal utensils, Miss Valentine.”

 

“Oh, _no_ , officer! That has _nothing_ to do with it!” Mai trilled, chewing on the tips of the prongs. “I just overestimated my artistic skills. I tried and I _tried_ , but I just couldn't capture how far your tongue is up that horse's ass.”

 

Mai liked to think the next bubble she blew and popped was a sign that she had irked her.

 

Stuffy bitch.

 

“You need to eat,” the witch doctor said, ignoring Mai's previous comment. “You skipped your breakfast and your lunch. You need not gorge yourself on those missed meals, but I cannot allow you to refuse your dinner.”

 

“All that oily bird meat and beer packs on the pounds,” Mai shrugged. “A girl's gotta watch her figure.”

 

“You need to eat at least once a day, Miss Valentine,” the Egyptian said, “and the portions are measured, if that truly is your concern.”

 

“You say that, yet I can't help but get the feeling I'm being fattened up for the slaughter.”

 

“The ritual is not a slaughter, Miss Valentine.”

 

As if that statement was supposed be comforting.

 

“But it's still a  _sacrifice_ ,” Mai sneered, pointing the fork at the Egyptian. “That cop getup is cute, honey, but your persuasive skills need serious improvement. I'm not eating any of your hocus-pocus family recipes.”

 

The witch doctor sighed again, and Mai wasn't sure if the woman was furrowing her brow or narrowing her eyes. She couldn't make anything out behind those godawful sunglasses.

 

“I take no joy in seeing you suffer, Miss Valentine—”

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

“You  _need_  to eat,” she repeated, undeterred by Mai's interruption, “for the ritual  _and_  for your own sake. While I understand your reluctance partaking in the ceremonial diet...”

 

Mai punctuated the brief pause with a scoff.

 

“... I do not wish to tell the guards to get the feeding tube again.”

 

“Smoothies are all the rage nowadays,” Mai quipped.

 

  

The witch doctor tilted her head and stared, mulling over her reply while she chewed on her gum. She blew another bubble, slowly, and Mai held her breath as she saw the pink sphere grow, only inhaling through her nose when the ball reached the limits of its elasticity and popped. The witch doctor flicked her tongue across her dark lips to gather the xylitol concoction back into her mouth, and she chewed on it some more. There was a signal to the end of her internal monologue when she pushed the gum to the side of her mouth, storing the small morsel in her cheek, presenting a rude slant to her jaw as she finally spoke.

 

“You should feel honored, Miss Valentine,” she said. “To play a part in this, even as a sacrifice, is a fate more noble than most.”

 

Mai bit the lining of her cheek and pushed herself off the bed, bending one leg and resting the crook of her elbow on the knee. The white chemise rode up her thighs with the lewd posturing, and she could care less if the witch doctor got a good look.

 

“ _Noble_ , huh? Now there's a thought,” Mai placed the fork to her lips and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as though considering the words. “Yeah, that's quite a spin on perspective. Y'know what? I'm pretty sure 'honor' was the exact sentiment of all those human sacrifices when the Aztec priests ripped their hearts out and cut off their heads.”

 

There was a small dip in the witch doctor's shoulders at the reply. Mai's smile didn't reach her eyes when she turned her attention away from the padded ceiling and back to the Egyptian.

 

“You can spray all the perfume in the world over a cow pie, honey, but in the end, it's still going to be a pile of bullshit.”

 

She enforced the statement and made a circle around the witch doctor's face with the plastic utensil.

 

“... It is _your_ _choice_ , Miss Valentine,” said the witch doctor, her voice a pitch perfect match for her unreadable eyes. “The fork or the tube.”

 

Mai cocked her jaw and violet eyes went half-lidded, turning her nose up at the options while the witch doctor went back to chewing on her gum. After some seconds of reflection and consideration, she looked the Egyptian woman in the sunglasses, stretched her arm to full extension with the fork, and forced her hand to go limp. Mai found an odd satisfaction at hearing the hollow, plastic clatter when it struck the ground.

 

The witch doctor was not satisfied.

 

“... So be it,” she sighed with a shake of her head, pulling her hands out of the cell. She turned with the click of her heel and gave a command to the guards in passing as she jotted something down on her clipboard.

 

“Restrain her. She gets the tube today.”

 

“Goddammit...”

 

A nasty smile crossed Mai's lips as the reluctant guards opened her cell. She had figured out within the first week that there was a reason for all the fine treatment: Pegasus didn't want her getting roughed up before the big day. Rather, he didn't want her body getting roughed up. What that meant to Mai was that she could hit, bite, kick, thrash, and scratch the suits all she wanted, and there was jack shit they could do about it. A thought crossed her mind, and the guards swore as they saw her dive for the plastic fork.

 

The tube was a bitch, but Mai was determined to prove she was a bigger one.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“Once I get out of here and regain control of the Rod, I'm going to make you watch me skin Pegasus alive, and you'll join your brother sucking at Ammut's teat for eternity.”

 

“I see nothing has changed with you.”

 

Isis marked a small “X” on the third sheet on her clipboard. She found herself missing the blinding white of Mai's holding place, squinting at the small print on her chart. Her eyes had trouble adjusting to the lighting in the dark stone tomb, a more “traditional” prison compared to Miss Valentine's. The guards waited on the other side of a bolted door, the only entrance and exit of a narrow hall lined with flickering torches that cast a fluctuating swirl of shadows leading to the Dark Thing's cell, but she refused to remove the sunglasses. She wasn't going to give it the satisfaction of seeing her eyes.

 

The Dark Thing sat crossed-legged on the ground as it stared at her from the back of its cell. The lavender pinpoints of its eyes were obscured by messy, jagged locks of platinum blonde hair sticking out in all directions. It squirmed in the confines of its straight jacket as its cackles bounced off the muzzle, and it waggled its tongue through the vertical slits in the mask, neck restrained by a robust collar attached to thick chains anchored to the floor.

 

She stood with a rigid posture on the other side of the cell's gate, and she kept her distance from the galvanized steel bars. Why were they so moist? And why were there quarter-sized puddles on the floor? There were no pipe leaks of which she was aware...

 

“You don't know how to take a joke,” it giggled.

 

“There is no humor in an Afterlife where one feeds at the breast of the beast,” Isis droned.

 

“But you think it'll be funny if I peel the flesh off your boyfriend like a big red grape?” It wiggled excitedly at the thought, the chains rattling with the motion.

 

“He is not my boyfriend,” Isis said tersely, grinding the gum between her teeth as she refused to look up from her notes. “I am a servant of Fate. His role is—”

 

“If he's not your boyfriend, then you've been letting him get away with some very questionable things, sister.”

 

“Do not call me 'sister'. I have no relation to _you_ ,” she said pointedly. The bright sunglasses hid the small twitch to her left eye, but she didn't hide the curl of her dark lips as the pen moved furiously across the board. “You are an abomination.”

 

“And you're a whore.”

 

She cocked her jaw with a concise shake of her head, saying nothing in return as she stayed focused on the notes. The Dark Thing rested its ear to one shoulder as it rocked back and forth in place.

 

“Those shoes look very uncomfortable, sister.”

 

“I told you not to call me that.”

 

“Those shoes look very uncomfortable, slut.”

 

Isis tamed the instinct to bare her teeth and wrinkle her nose in disgust, maintaining neutral lines across her features, still keeping her attention to his chart, flipping through the papers.

 

“You are hydrated,” she muttered, intermittently chewing on the stale piece of gum in her mouth. It had lost most of its elasticity and all its flavor long ago; she couldn't wait to be rid of it.

 

“Can you breathe all right in that dress? It looks like you're suffocating in it.”

 

“You've eaten,” she said flatly.

 

“Sunglasses are a bit much. I like the hat, though. It's a nice touch.”

 

“The guards changed you this morning.”

 

“I didn't know you liked gum. Is that part of the costume, too?” it jeered. “Or is it supposed to warm up your jaw for something else?”

 

“Utter all the vulgarities you wish. I am not opening this cell,” she retorted, her gaze remaining on the papers in her hands. “I know what you're trying to do, and I refuse to play your games.”

 

The desire to throttle it was ample, but she wasn't going willingly into that cell, nor was she going to put her hands anywhere near its person, even if it was under restraint. She knew better by now.

 

The Dark Thing pouted in disdain.

 

“You really are a humorless cunt,” it growled. “Fine! If that's how you want to play.”

 

The Dark Thing arched its back inward and broadened its chest as it made an atrocious gargling sound. Upon exhalation, it hocked a thick, mucous glob through one of the holes in its muzzle and sent the wad soaring across the cell, landing just below the rim of Isis' sunglasses and splattering across her left cheek.

 

“Hahahaha! Bulls-eye! All that practice paid off!”

 

That explained the wet bars and the small puddles.

 

To the woman's credit, she didn't recoil at the contact, but her revulsion was evident in the way she stiffly placed the pen into its designated slot on the board before she lifted her head to stare at the Dark Thing. The corner of her lip spasmed, feeling the warm, sticky mixture of phlegm and saliva making its way down her cheek.

 

“Why do you look so bothered, _sister_? I would think you're accustomed to such treatment by now,” it guffawed. “Or maybe you're just used to having something else on your face?”

 

The stale gum compressed between her molars, her jaw set in place as she summoned the discipline to cease the shaking of her lip.

 

“Your weekly check-up is complete,” she said, tone dispassionate and distant as she deliberately smoothed her gloved thumb over her cheek to wipe off the demonic loogie. “We're done here.”

 

She scraped her thumb against a bar on its cell before turning on her heel, rolling her gloved fingers together to dry off what little saliva was left.

 

“Oh, _sister_ , going so soon? You just got here!”

 

She didn't acknowledge the words and kept walking down the hall, her black garb blending with the surrounding stone as she fell out of the Dark Thing's view. The gold handcuffs on her belt glinted in the shifting light of the tomb's fire, the small chains clinking with each step she took.

 

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings! Don't leave me all alone in the dark!”

 

She kept walking.

 

“Come back, sister!”

 

And walking...

 

“Wait, sister!”

 

Heels echoing.

 

Click-clack.

 

“Sister!”

 

A brisk pace.

 

Tip-tap.

 

“Sis... Sister...”

 

And she stopped.

 

Silence.

 

_No, it couldn't be._

 

That whimper, that _voice_.

 

She hadn't heard it in a long time.

 

Not since Rishid—

 

“Isis... P-please... Come back...”

 

_Could it really...?_

 

No, it couldn't be.

 

Could it?

 

“I-I... don't... have much time... Sister... Please...”

 

Isis stayed in place, but she dared to look over her shoulder.

 

“Malik?” she whispered.

 

“I've... I've been fighting... so long... Sister...”

 

“Malik?” she gasped.

 

“No time... I need... I need to tell you... before it's too late...”

 

Her shoulders dropped at the feeble tone.

 

“I want... I want to say...”

 

She turned her body to match the direction of her head. She was standing half-way up the hall, and it was difficult for her to compose the shape in the cell. The head was hung low to its chest, hiding the face from view. It may have been a trick of the lighting and the tinting of the sunglasses, but she could have sworn the platinum blonde hair had lost volume.

 

“... What is it, Malik?”

 

“Keep me in your thoughts when the stallion mounts you in his stock tonight! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

 

She dashed the clipboard against the ground with a loud “SNAP!”

 

_You hideous parasite._

 

Her teeth chomped down on the hard piece of gum at the sight of its head falling back while it roared, blood pulsing in her neck as she stomped over to its cell, straight raven hair bouncing in waves with every step.

 

“Aw, did I hit a soft spot, _sister_?” it teased. “But I suppose you're plenty tender after a year of—”

 

 _Shut_ _up_.

 

She made the sentiment known as she leaned into a slot in the cell's door and spat out her gum. The stiff little wad flew in a perfect arc and landed on the top of its head, getting lost in the tangled mass of pale hair. The Dark Thing made a gagging sound and shrank back from the impact.

 

“Ugh! Ew! That's not very nice!”

 

It whined like a six-year-old that had been told to eat the under-seasoned vegetables on its plate. It slid its feet across the floor in an attempt to get away from the offending article to no avail, taking all the slack out of its chains in the process.

 

“You know I can't get it out! The guards already cleaned me today! It's going to be there all night! H-hey! Stop walking away and get back here! Get this gross thing off my head, _right_ _now_! It's got your whore spit all over it! I don't want it in my hair! Get back here! _GET BACK HERE!_ ”

 

The Dark Thing continued to gag and gripe while the woman in black sauntered away. She only stopped to collect her clipboard off the ground and brushed off the pages before she flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder with a small huff. All that could be heard thereafter was the clicking of her stiletto heels on the ground and the clinking of the handcuff's chains at her waist as she disappeared up the path.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

[A castle awash with blue rays of moonlight, a starless night.](https://youtu.be/VOhr9DH0L3M)

 

Room alight with a vivid incandescence, the orange radiance of mounted candles.

 

Writhing shadows cast across books, an oak writing desk from who knows how many generations past.

 

Deft fingers running over the folds of the dress, the delicate texture of royal blue taffeta.

 

Acrylics and oils from another lifetime, a woman sealed in varnish and cloaked by burgundy drapes.

 

_Not for much longer._

 

Whispers of artifacts locked away in a safe.

 

A spark of amber in his right eye, a shimmer of gold to his left.

 

_How astonishing, this ancient sorcery._

 

Red wine to his lips, a fruity note ending with a dry bite to his tongue, a contrast and complement to the rosy aroma—not that _flavor_ was ever an issue.

 

Candlelight bouncing off silver strands, a warm glow against his pale hand hovering over the glass, wine rippling with a new essence.

 

Smoothing out a scarlet lapel, fingers slipping the vial back in place.

 

_What a marvel, this modern alchemy._

 

The chime of gold chains and percussive taps coming up the steps, beckoning her return.

 

The intoxication of women.

 

 _Magic_.

 

Slender digits pinched the hem, thumb rolling in circles over the luxurious fabric.

 

“If the ritual fails, Miss Ishtar, it will be _you_ in this dress,” Pegasus drawled, eye tracing the ruffles at the bust. He would have to dye it if it came to that. This particular shade of blue was an atrocious combination with bronze, and he smiled at the possibilities. He would be terribly distraught if Miss Valentine were to be a failure, but the alternative was quite compelling.

 

It was an alternative Isis did not entertain. She refused to look at the Victorian-inspired dress hanging on the wall, averting the warm cobalt eyes of the deceased woman's portrait as she completed her ascension of the stairs.

 

“I assure you, Mister Pegasus, it will not come to that. The resurrection has a 100 percent chance of success.”

 

She stopped a handful of paces behind him, staring at the broad back of his suit as he appeared to be busying himself with smoothing out the dress, clipboard raised with one hand to instinctively cover her chest. Her upstanding posture and cool, steady tone were at odds with the burning pins and needles in her heels. After spending the better half of the day with the check-ups in the dungeons, only to come rising back to the tower, her feet were killing her.

 

“Oh? And how did my _lovely_ assistant come to calculate such promising odds?” He swirled the wine glass in small circles before lifting it to the candle on the wall. Isis found something unnerving about the color when held to flame.

 

“It has been predetermined by Fate, Mister Pegasus. I have seen all that has been and all that will be. I can say to you with utmost certainty that the experiment will yield the outcome we desire. My Millennium Necklace is _never_ wrong.”

 

“ _Thus_ _far_ ,” Pegasus added. “Status report on our guests, if you please.”

 

Spoken as though refusal was a choice.

 

“She denied the ceremonial rations again.”

 

“But you took care of it the usual way?”

 

“Correct.” She still nodded despite having his back turned to her.

 

His hair lightly shifted from side to side, a dramatic slump to his shoulders with a “tsk, tsk, tsk” and the shake of his head.

 

“What a shame! My talented chefs work tirelessly to bring out the best in a limited menu, only for it to end up in a bag, and let us not forget the efforts of our devout friends in Europe! To toil in the wake of God and have all that beer and wine refused, it would wound them to know the Lord's work gets funneled into a tube with nary a chance for the recipient to appreciate their labors.”

 

He languished with a deep sigh, making a show of swirling the wine.

 

“Sometimes there is just no pleasing a woman. Oh, well, nothing a little _attitude_ _adjustment_ won't fix.”

 

There was a brief flash of yellow against the dress, and Isis almost felt guilty when she found herself agreeing with the implication.

 

“And what of our _other_ guest, Miss Ishtar?” he inquired, bringing the wine glass to his chest, still moving the liquid in small, practiced circles.

 

“There have been no changes in its condition,” she informed dully.

 

“I'm quite sorry to hear that, Miss Ishtar,” he sighed in a tone that was anything but. “Had I known the long-term effects, I would not have been so harsh with my penalty game.”

 

Her lips remained still, but her jaw worked methodically on the piece of gum in her mouth, sharpening her eyes behind the polished sunset gradient.

 

“Ah, yes, the delicate matter of the other fellow. The quiet one of you three. What was his name, again? Rasheed?”

 

“ _Rishid_ ,” she muttered brusquely. She knew he was damn well aware of the name.

 

“Yes, that's it!” Pegasus brightened with the snap of his finger. “To reiterate, I had _no_ intention of including your adopted brother among the fallen in that massacre with the Rare Hunters. I do so like to think myself well-practiced with my Item, but what a terrible time to underestimate my power! Once again, my _sincerest_ apologies for what happened back in Egypt. I do hope, after all that time ago, you've found it in your heart to forgive me for such a careless transgression!”

 

Her grip tightened at the edge of the clipboard, teeth locking down on the gum.

 

“At the very least, you had time to perform the funeral rites in accordance with your lovely religion. May he find peace in the next life.”

 

He lifted the wine glass once more in a toast, and lowered it when another thought crossed his mind.

 

“Speaking of your religion, Miss Ishtar,” Pegasus piqued, pinching a pink bow between his fingers. “You are _certain_ we have everything we need for the big night?”

 

“So long as we follow the guidance of my codex in tandem with the use of the gathered Items, the plan will come to fruition, Mister Pegasus. You needn't worry about any deviation from our plans. I have foreseen it,” she reassured.

 

“So sayeth my faithful soothsayer,” Pegasus hummed, “but I am familiar with the workings of magic. One cannot receive without having something taken away; it is a _transaction_ , not a gift. With the day drawing near, I must confess I am anxious. Your Necklace guards your mind from my Eye, and I cannot see this future you promise. So is there anything you would like to tell me while there is still a chance?”

 

“... Are you asking if I am deceiving you, Mister Pegasus?” Isis asked with the subtle tilt of her head, storing the gum in the pocket of her cheek. “After _everything_ I have done thus far, you doubt my intentions?”

 

There was no tremor or hesitation to her voice; she couldn't afford to have him hear either.

 

“I am asking if I am going to lose another eye in exchange for _seeing_ my dearly beloved again,” he intoned with a frown. “What is the catch?”

 

“The ritual will cause some fatigue to your person, but the worst you will feel is a headache,” she relayed with a hand over her Millennium Necklace. “It will not last long, I assure you.”

 

“A _headache_ , you say?” Pegasus drawled, looking over his shoulder with his biological eye and a raised brow. “Is that it? That seems too good to be true.”

 

“Have faith, Mister Pegasus,” she advised. “Rest assured, you may put your trust in Fate. Everything is as it will be.”

 

“ _Que_ _sera_ _sera_ , hm?” Pegasus said with another rotation of the glass. “An odd choice of perspective from my clever clairvoyant. Are you _certain_ of your vision?”

 

“Absolutely,” she affirmed. A smile tugged at his lips then, his natural eye tracing her up and down. Her tone matched her standing: stiff, strict, a model of discipline, the ideal complement to her current accoutrements.

 

He needed to change that.

 

“There is no need to be so _severe_ all the time, Miss Ishtar. We are business partners, after all,” he proclaimed airily. He let go of the dress and turned so he was facing the Egyptian completely, taking a step towards her.

 

“Would you care for a sip of wine?” he asked, offering the glass with an outstretched hand. “It is from my vineyard in Napa Valley. The shipment arrived this morning and I must say, while it is a tad sweet throughout, there is a very _refreshing_ bite that revitalizes the palate.”

 

The small, audible click of his teeth made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She reviewed that he hadn't taken a sip from the glass the entire time she had been in the room.

 

“I am grateful for the offer, Mister Pegasus, but I must abstain,” she said steadily, carefully, raising the clipboard and placing it between herself and the glass. “As I am due to lead the procession in three days, it would be poor practice to take part in any vices—”

 

“But it is not _forbidden_ , is it?” Pegasus asked, inching the glass further forward. “Is there anything in your little spell book saying you _absolutely_ cannot take part in an award winning Pinot Noir?”

 

“It is looked down upon—”

 

“But there is nothing that says it will _interfere_ with the ritual. Surely, you can spare yourself _one_ drink,” he urged with raised brows and a wide grin. The wine moved in small waves with the subtle back-and-forth tilt of his fingers, liquid curling inward in its glass, as though beckoning to her.

 

“Please, Mister Pegasus,” Isis said quickly, “I understand your _generous_ intentions, but it is important we adhere to the guidelines as closely as possible. While I have foreseen the success of the ceremony, I do not desire to incur the disdain of my gods in the process.”

 

She found herself wary of the way his biological eye glinted in the flickering candlelight, smile retreating but teeth still shown. He brought the wine glass below his chin, a reflection of red bouncing off the drink and glowing across face.

 

“Pity,” he said lowly.

 

His hair inched down his shoulders when he tilted his head back, knuckles to his forehead with a heavy, defeated sigh.

 

“It's your choice,” he said with a hapless shrug and a pout. He improved his posture and set the wine glass aside on the oak writing desk. “I thought you would so enjoy it, but alas! You are correct. We must postpone such distractions. We are business partners. So let us talk business, yes?”

 

He held out his left hand with an open palm facing the ceiling, curving his index and middle fingers in a “come hither” motion. Isis bit down once on her gum as she held the clipboard to this outstretched hand, but Pegasus refused it and turned his open palm into a fist.

 

“No, not that,” Pegasus chirped and chastising wave of his index finger. He opened his hand once more and repeated his prior gesture in front of her face. The words were coy, his voice suave and inviting, but the demure smile at his lips did not match what she saw behind his pupil when he spoke.

 

“Spit it out.”

 

Copper jaw losing tension.

 

Her heart stalling in her chest.

 

Gloved fingers loosening around the clipboard.

 

His smile stretching.

 

His hand still waiting.

 

The realization.

 

Her mistake.

 

With a blink, she tried to gather her composure and closed her mouth, but it was too late.

 

“Oh, come now!” he laughed. “Surely, you must be _dying_ to be rid of it, Miss Ishtar. You've had it all day! I imagine it must feel like chewing on the sole of a shoe at this point. It's _intolerable_ just thinking about it! Please, let me relieve your anguish.”

 

His fingers twitched, and her eyes mimicked motion.

 

“Spit it out.”

 

The enamel of her teeth strained under the pressure of her clenched jaw, a discomfort that radiated from her gums to her cheekbones, the flesh connecting her head to her neck becoming taut. She could feel the rush of blood to her head, heat pooling around the top of her scalp, and she had to tell herself to steady her shaking hands.

 

A canine tooth grazed Pegasus' bottom lip as he smirked down at her. He couldn't use the Eye to read her mind, but his nose deciphered the unmistakeable scent of spearmint on her breath.

 

He did not curve his fingers this time, merely holding his open hand expectantly below her mouth.

 

“Don't make me repeat myself a third time, Miss Ishtar.”

 

It was a throaty purr, the sound of a lion that had cornered a fawn in its den, and Isis exhaled with an audible shudder through her teeth. She chewed on the sticky concoction one, twice, and rolled it into a ball against the roof of her mouth before she gently spat it out into his exposed palm.

 

“There, now was that so hard?” Pegasus asked cordially with a guileful nod of his head. Isis' heart wrenched in her chest when he glanced at the little green wad in his hand.

 

“Oh, my! Now, just what...? Hmm,” Pegasus held his chin with his other hand and he observed the sample with scrutiny, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it within an inch of his natural eye. “Now, Miss Ishtar, forgive me for the repetition. I know I have a hard habit of being _incredibly_ absent-minded at the most inopportune times, but I distinctly remember giving you _very_ explicit instructions not to spit out the piece of gum I gave you this morning, isn't that correct?”

 

The crackles of candlelight.

 

The whistling breeze through the window.

 

The tapping of his shoes against the floor as he circled her.

 

The pounding of her heart in her ears.

 

Silence.

 

“Answer me, Miss Ishtar.”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, _Mister_ _Pegasus._ ” Her dark lips had been pressed as close as she could get them when she uttered the title.

 

“And I think I made it quite clear that there were to be _severe_ repercussions if you were to violate the rules of conduct while you're dressed as The Decadent Authoritarian, isn't that also correct?”

 

“Yes, Mister Pegasus.” She bowed her head, hands pressed to the sides of her hips, and she kept her knees steady despite the relentless throbbing in her feet. That was the least of her problems right now.

 

“So, let us examine what we have here, shall we?” He made a grand, sweeping circle with his free hand. “Before me, I have this little piece of gum. It is a very squishy morsel with adequate elasticity, moist to the touch, with a brilliant green hue. Hm, but if memory serves me right, the piece I gave you was _pink._ A stunning shade of fuchsia, if I am to be more specific.”

 

He tapped the air once with the note, continuing to circle her like a buzzard as she stared at the floor and focused on her breathing.

 

“Last I checked, this particular brand of candy doesn't possess any sort of radical gimmick such as changing color over the course of the day, nor did it advertise changing its flavor profile. I know for certain that you received the insipid yet traditional 'bubblegum' flavor, but the piece I have in my hand bears the distinct, sharp note of a type of _mint_. How very _suspicious_...”

 

Pegasus placed his right hand on his hip, left hand holding the gum to the light with an upturned lip. She stared at his pristine white shoes as he stopped in front of her, and refused to raise her chin to meet his gaze, but could feel his wayward grin hovering above her head.

 

“Though hasty and albeit brief, I do declare, after my examination and review of the evidence provided, I have come to this conclusion!”

 

Pegasus grabbed her chin with his right hand and forced her to stare at the fresh wad of gum in his left, waving it back and forth across her field of view.

 

“This is not _remotely_ close to the same piece I gave you this morning.”

 

Using the woman's jaw as leverage, he torqued Isis' neck and shoved her down at an angle, toppling her off balance on the thin stiletto heels of her torturous boots, forcing her to drop her clipboard while whipping her hat off in the process. She stumbled to the floor and caught herself on her hands, crouched on her haunches as her hair fanned over her face. She kept one hand braced on the ground and raised the other across her head in preparation for a harder blow, but no such action came.

 

Pegasus' shadow moved across her body, ignoring her squatting form on the floor and strolling over to the open window. With a sideways swipe of his arm and a quiet huff, the piece of gum went flying out of the tower and into the woodline below. Cautiously, the Egyptian got back to her feet and gathered the clipboard back into her grasp, holding it just below her cheek in the event of another hit when she saw him turn around and stalk towards her.

 

“ _Honestly_ , Miss Ishtar, if you aren't going to take our games seriously, the least you could do is put forth some effort when you're trying to cheat.”

 

A quiver ran up her spine and a bubble formed in her throat when Pegasus reached out with a nonchalant gaze, looking through and past her, and wiped his wet hand against her bare shoulder. He completed the cleaning regimen with the flexing of his pale digits through her stark raven hair and a flick of his wrist, and she couldn't contain her grimace. The silver-haired man leaned against the edge of the writing desk and eyed her with an upturned chin, arms across his chest and one ankle over the other. He looked spectacularly irritated, but the inner workings of his mind were fighting the urge to giggle incessantly.

 

He was the only person on the island who had regular bubblegum.

 

All of his guards on staff had peppermint, with the exception of one.

 

He had given the spearmint to Croquet.

 

Pegasus would have to give that man a good lecture about interfering with his games.

 

 _Later_.

 

Pegasus relaxed his posture with his stare, a gentle smile smoothing across his features as he picked the wine glass off the corner of the desk.

 

“Though, I suppose, it is very _silly_ , now isn't it? Telling someone to stretch out the life of a piece of gum over anything more than an hour is quite unimaginative. Trite, really,” he shrugged, staring into the sweet scarlet liquid. “In hindsight, I can't blame you for finding such a challenge to be, well, _unchallenging._ It's really very _childish_ when you think about it, isn't it? Such frivolous games are better left in primary school.”

 

Isis observed him over the edge of the clipboard as he twirled the wine for several seconds, as though reflecting on his words, before setting it back down on the desk. She took a step back when she saw him push himself off the polished old oak, dipping a hand underneath his red blazer and pulling a small eggshell white envelope out of the hidden chest pocket.

 

“So let's act like adults, shall we?” He gripped the paper between both hands and presented it to her with an air of consideration, bowing his head with a small smile. “For you.”

 

Though Pegasus couldn't see it, he knew her brows were knitted underneath the sunglasses, and he laughed.

 

“Come now, Miss Ishtar! It's just a card. Don't be so hesitant!”

 

Haltingly, Isis lowered the clipboard from her face, staring at the envelope as though an electric shock would run through her fingers if she touched it (it wouldn't be the first time Pegasus had rigged something with a joy buzzer). She pinched the corner with the very tips of her fingers and gently lifted the tab on the back, revealing a card within.

 

It was the size of a postcard with a colorful illustration of Funny Bunny. She recognized the cartoon rabbit as Pegasus had taken it upon himself to educate her about the character early on in their “partnership”, but there had been an alteration to the lagomorph's usual attire. The pink rabbit's signature goofy, unnerving expression and miscolored eyes were present, but where there would have been coveralls, the cartoon was donning a dark suit and red bow tie with white gloves, pointing to the upper left hand corner of the invitation while staring at the viewer. It was an awkward composition with the words “You're invited to the big show!” hovering over Funny Bunny's hand in cursive type against a background of what appeared to be a set of red stage curtains.

 

 

Isis flipped the card over and found the other side blank.

 

“... What is this?” Isis asked nervously, looking up at Pegasus.

 

“Why, isn't it obvious?” Pegasus chuckled. “It's an invitation to my bachelor party.”

 

[She nearly dropped the card and its envelope when her jaw went slack, shrinking away from him.](https://youtu.be/vNb-8gLcXLs)

 

 _No_.

 

“Why would you want to invite me to your bachelor party?” she asked. She internally cursed at herself for allowing a tremor to seep into her voice, and Pegasus smiled sweetly at the sound.

 

“Well, seeing as how the ritual is due to take place in three days, I thought it only practical to _cherish_ what little time I have left as a free man,” he explained, and he placed his hands with familiarity on her elbows. “As it is, everything thus far would not have been possible without you. It only seems appropriate to include you with the revelries.”

 

At that moment, the agony in her feet could not contend with the weakness in her knees.

 

The cold that ran through her veins.

 

The sinking of her heart into her stomach.

 

The blooming terror.

 

_No._

 

“That is... very thoughtful of you, Mister Pegasus,” Isis said, inching away from his touch with a backwards step, making her way for the stairs, “but I must decline.”

 

Pegasus feigned his dismay, pouting with a listless sigh and placing a hand over his chest.

 

“I was hoping you wouldn't say that, Miss Ishtar,” he bemoaned, reaching for her with a step forward. “It breaks my heart.”

 

“Is that so?” Isis countered, taking two steps back, the invitation shaking in her hands. If she could make it to the stairs...

 

“Well, for you to decline my invitation, it's terribly problematic,” Pegasus soothed, teeth glistening in the candlelight, hands still extending for her person.

 

“In what way, Mister Pegasus?”

 

Sweat gathering underneath the gloves.

 

Heart thrumming against her rib cage.

 

Springs coiling in her legs.

 

Lightness in her nerves.

 

Her mind screaming.

 

 _Take_ _flight_.

 

“Your attendance to my party is _essential_ , Miss Ishtar,” Pegasus crooned.

 

The eye of the Necklace, pulsing.

 

Ethereal hands measuring threads.

 

Fate's design before her eyes.

 

_**What will be, will be.** _

 

He slipped his right hand into her hair, brushing the shell of her ear with his fingertips and trailing his thumb along her quivering cheek.

 

“You're the guest of honor.”

 

 _No_.

 

Energy gathered in the Millennium Necklace lashed forward and struck his Eye with a jolt of light, the invitation falling in a graceless spin to the ground as she turned on her heel.

 

“Oooh, you have _tricks_ , do you?” Pegasus drawled, Eye glowing with her Necklace's 'gift'. “How bold! I've quite a few myself, you know.”

 

A surge of static belted the crown of her head and penetrated through grey matter and optic nerves, scrambling her vision and causing her temples to throb with a sudden agony, losing sight of the stairs and stumbling at the momentary loss. The pain in her forehead was replaced with something sharper at the base of her skull as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted, jerking her head and tweaking the muscles in her neck, bringing her back flush against his chest.

 

 

“Don't toy with the toy-master, _doll_ ,” Pegasus growled huskily in her ear, his free hand running down her shoulder, along the side of her breast, across her belly and drifting to her hip, fingers hooking around the dangling gold chains. Isis reached back with her hands in an effort to pry his fingers from her hair, heels scraping the floor as she struggled to gain purchase when he tugged her up, and gasped when something clicked around a wrist.

 

“Are you even _trying_ to play seriously? You're making this too easy!” he giggled as he secured the other handcuff over the remaining wrist, restraining her hands to her lower back.

 

“Let me go!” she snarled.

 

“If that's what you really want...”

 

He clapped his hands around her shoulders and lifted her off the ground, pushing her up in a small arc and dropping her like a rag doll on top of the oak writing desk. A small cry scratched at her throat as she landed on her wrists, the dense gold of the cuffs exalted into her tailbone, a sharp pain radiating from her lower back at the contact and wrists bruising through her gloves. Her head thumped against the dense wood and a flurry of stars flashed before her eyes.

 

After several blinks in an attempt to regain some cognitive function, Isis cried out again when he buried a knee into her pelvis, forcing her back against the unforgiving gold entrapping her wrists, and she choked when he wrapped his hand around her neck. The shaded tint to her field of view disappeared as he pinched the bridge of her sunglasses and flung them over his shoulder, and he savored the wide, wet shimmer to her dark blue eyes.

 

He smiled in remembrance.

 

Cecelia had blue eyes, too.

 

“It really is _fantastic_ wine,” Pegasus intoned, reaching for the glass at the corner of the table and holding it over Isis' head. “Very unlike your typical Cabernet Sauvignon or a Merlot in that it doesn't _need_ to age to bring out its full potential. A Pinot Noir, such as this, is meant to be enjoyed within the year it's produced. There are hacks that claim the grape gains 'complexity' over time, but let us be honest: when one tries to _claim_ something is complex without prompting, it is done more out of a sense of pretension than genuine intricacy.”

 

Isis wanted to sneer, but she kept her lips closed, taking shallow breaths through her nose as his grip tightened around her neck.

 

“Ah, but I'm starting to go down a rabbit hole. Let us stay on topic, yes? Regarding this particular wine in my hand, it is _very_ sensitive to air exposure, and as such,” Pegasus smiled and placed a thumb to her lip, grazing the tender flesh while the rest of his fingers dug into the curve of her jawline, giving her windpipe some reprieve.

 

“It is best enjoyed as _soon as possible_. So I suggest you drink your fill before this glass gets stale.”

 

She didn't want a single drop of that wine.

 

Isis struggled to turn her head to the side with a strained groan, squirming under his body and thumping the sides of his hips with her knees with little effect. She arched her back to relieve the pressure of the gold cuffs digging into her lumbar and squishing her hands, and was nauseated at feeling his knee firmly at its place on her womb.

 

“Oh, come now, Miss Ishtar. Always so stringent! Was it not one of your own gods who partook in drink after smiting mankind at the request of Ra? Sekhmet, was it? Or was it _Hathor_ who had turned into Sekhmet, abandoning motherhood to take up the warrior role, trading her horns for a lion's head? _But_ , if I remember that story correctly, she became Hathor again after she drank a river's quantity and passed out. Got her horns back,” Pegasus droned. “Just imagine! A lion turning into a cow. What a droll thought.”

 

Her narrowed eyes snapped open at the words, pupils dilating with the dawning realization.

 

“No need for a river's worth in this day and age,” Pegasus whispered, twirling the glass with a grin. One sip was all it would take.

 

Isis shook her head and clamped her mouth shut when she felt him try to pry his thumb between her lips, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The Egyptian was usually so calm, so collected, taking so much pride in her austere demeanor. It was thrilling to see her resist him in this way, to witness that defiance, that little lick of fire in her eyes, but alas!

 

He wasn't in the mood to wrestle with her today.

 

Pegasus moved his thumb from her lip and trailed it down the hollow of Isis' heck, becoming slick with her sweat, and dug his nail into her jugular notch. He saw the whites of her eyes as they rolled to the back of her head, a muffled whine falling on his ears as she still so desperately tried to keep her mouth shut, corralling every part of her being not to scream at the pain of him crushing her trachea. He continued to swirl the wine in its glass, holding it to the side of her head while the rest of his fingers busied themselves with wrapping around her trapezius curve and digging into the stiff muscle, imagining his fingertips sinking through the tissue and meeting his thumb on the other side of her neck.

 

He savored her rapid pulse, biting his lip at the sound of her short, shallow chokes as he applied more pressure with each second, tears pricking the corners of her stunning blue eyes. He had fond memories of Cecelia, of her own beautiful blue eyes that had shined in their moments together. His heart skipped a beat at the whimper that escaped through Isis' closed lips as she struggled against his grasp, and he remembered the soft, wanton sounds of his dearly beloved as she had writhed beneath him.

 

Which begged the question: What would Cecelia sound like with Mai's voice? Would it be the same aching chirps that she had allowed herself to expend at their most intimate? Or would it be rougher, an abrasive trill like when she had been dragged off to her holding place, telling him to copulate with himself in an explicit fashion? What of other features? Surely, their bright blonde hair wouldn't feel all that different under his fingers, and while Mai was admittedly fuller in all the right areas compared to Cecelia's petite frame, he imagined there wasn't any considerable deviation in the texture of their flesh. After the initial reintroduction at her resurrection, the inevitable adjustment period, he was certain the differences would be minimal if not moot once everything was settled.

 

Isis, though, was a different animal entirely.

 

“Come now, Miss Ishtar, you're really going to hold your breath to the point of fainting?” Pegasus sighed wearily, observing the pallor of her face as her eyes trembled. “That's just a tad childish, don't you think? I thought we were going to be _adults_ about this.”

 

He angled his thumb from its 90 degree orientation to 45 in the notch and envisioned trying to dig for her heart, yet Isis kept her lips sealed. Pegasus felt and heard a grinding wail roll about in her throat, a wretched, unattractive sound to his ears, but still, he smiled. Her endurance was something to be admired, yet he knew what the end result would be. For all her stubbornness and willpower, all that intention and discipline, even arcane magic could not best basic biology. That handy mechanism, that vital piece of her brain stem, his helpful friend and the bane of her resolve, would give the command—

 

Right...

 

About...

 

Now.

 

 _Breathe_.

 

Her lips and teeth parted in a desperate gasp for air to compensate for her choked windpipe, and her cry at her mind's betrayal was short-lived when Pegasus dumped all the contents of the glass into her gaping maw. Her cheeks bulged when she tried to spit it out, but Pegasus clamped his hand over her face, digging his fingers into her cheekbones and compressing down while his thumb maintained an upward pressure on her mandible. A paltry amount squirted through her lips and an embarrassing quantity sputtered through her nostrils, giving the appearance of an aggressive nose bleed and leaking out over Pegasus hand, but most of it had raced down her esophagus when she swallowed.

 

“It really is good wine,” Pegasus commented with a lifted brow. “A shame some of it spilled, but you need not worry about that. There's plenty more in the cellar.”

 

He loosened his grip on her face and took his knee out of her pelvis, placing the now empty glass aside. He reached into the chest pocket of his blazer to retrieve a handkerchief while Isis gritted her teeth in a shaky hiss, head rolling back on the table with a miserable, defeated moan. She quietly sobbed as she refused to look at the man leaning above her, and she recoiled from his touch when he dabbed at her face to clean up the wasted wine between her intermittent sniffles and coughs. When he finished wiping her face and his hand, he tossed the dirtied cloth to the side and reached down for her once more. Pegasus pursed his lips in sympathy and made a “tsk” sound between his teeth, caressing her jawline and massaging the base of her skull.

 

“Oh, _Isis_ , you poor thing,” he lulled, leaning into the side of her head and nuzzling her ear. “I've been so looking forward to seeing Cecelia again, but I must confess I've become quite attached to you as well. You've not only given me hope, but you've been such a _comfort_ to me this past year. If only we could have met sooner, or in another place, under different circumstances. Who knows? Perhaps Fate would be so kind as so we can meet in another life.”

 

Curtains, stone, and candlelight melted into a hypnotic spiral, and Isis was uncertain if the urge to vomit came from the tainted wine seeping into the lining of her stomach or his lips grazing the line of her jaw. She could think of no greater hell than be damned to be entwined with this man.

 

“Now, now, Isis, dry those tears,” he murmured against her wet cheek. “I understand. Really, I do. This year together has been so _precious_ , but with the ritual over the horizon, our time _alone_ is finite, and I must, above all, be loyal to my wife.”

 

Isis wanted to scream, but nothing came out. The multi-colored tornado in her vision formed a haze to the edges, Cecelia's portrait stretching and condensing its proportions on the wall. She felt her mouth watering and her legs were weightless, the ache in her wrists and back fading. In her daze, she thought she felt his hands wander over her torso and slide further down to grasp her thighs, pulling them over his hips and pressing something firm against her stomach.

 

“ _However_ , until that night comes,” Pegasus purred into her neck, [“I will thank you properly.”](https://youtu.be/VE4bW3SJ6YE)

* * *

 

Author's Notes: Not too much to say on this one (aside from “ick”). I originally wasn't going to have Isis in the cop outfit at all in this story, as it was supposed to be an isolated thing for the first teaser poster I put up back in September, which was also supposed to be a parody to the Beyond Reanimator “Move Your Dead Bones” music video, due of the Frankenstein-esque theme (and it's a catchy tune).

 

 

But the theme of prison and authority was so prevalent in this chapter, the cop outfit stuck and the gum scenario got in there too. Sorry, Isis.

Stay tuned for the next chapter on the 19th of October.

Or just stop reading here and find something in a more jovial vein, because if you think this story is bad already...

* * *

 


	2. I I

_Beware the patient woman_  
_'Cause this much I know_  
_No one calls you “Honey”_  
_When you're sitting on a throne_

 

A Little Wicked, _Valerie Broussard_

 

**I I**

 

“These Gods are _important_ to you, are they not?”

 

That was what he had said when she entered his room to receive the fragmented aspects of Ra-Horakhty, a year ago in real time, an eternity in all other senses.

 

“Yes,” she had said. Her eyes had settled on the cards in the suitcase before he reached over and closed it with the press of his hand.

 

“And, correct me if I am making a _hasty_ assumption, but you have a plan that _requires_ having these Gods in your possession?” he had said. He dangled the case in front of her, as though it were a piece of bait before a hungry animal.

 

“... Yes,” she had said, looking to the floor. She tried and failed to quell the pounding of her heart, counting the shadows cast on the floor from the Venetian shades when he reached forward with his hand.

 

“You will do _anything_ for these Gods, won't you?” he had whispered in her ear, thumb brushing over her cheek.

 

“... Yes,” she had whispered back.

 

“I am very happy we have an understanding, Miss Ishtar.”

 

She remembered his lips pressing against the lining of her jaw, his hand trailing away from her face to run his fingers through her hair, before they curved and settled around her neck.

 

“Now, _g_ _et on the bed._ ”

 

The alliance was forged that night, bathed in the light of their Items and beset by her blood on the sheets: her pledge, her sacrifice to the Gods and the Will of Fate. Everything from that meeting forward accelerated her pace down the path and emphasized her misery. For she may have drawn the focus of his basic instincts, but his mind and his heart (or whatever it was that resided within his chest) still pined for his departed dearest. Her knowledge of the old rituals and aptitude for the arcane did far more to keep his attentions than her body ever could.

 

Though, Maximillion Pegasus never expressed any qualms in taking advantage of both. That much was, and always had been, apparent when she woke up from his games.

 

She knew everything that was and was to be. That was the power of the Millennium Necklace: absolute, unwaverable knowledge, to stand before the path and see what lied ahead. From the moment she donned the Necklace, after the tragedy with the Dark Thing and her father, she saw Pegasus, the oncoming atrocities and violations, the horrors she was to endure. The efforts were not in vain, for it was necessary to complete the mission of her family, as Malik had failed to fulfill it in all respects but one. She saw the path, memorized each jagged stone and fallen branch in the way, traced every step she was to take, but knowing she was destined to trample over her obstacles did very little to alleviate her agony when the time came to experience it first hand.

 

A haze still clung to her eyes when they parted, her mouth parched and sore. She struggled to lift herself from the ground, uncertain if the cold in her limbs was due to prolonged contact with the black granite floor or the after effects of Pegasus' diabolic concoction. Her arms shook as she propped herself up to her hands and knees, groaning as a familiar and wholly unwelcome ache radiated from between her legs and made her wince. An abhorrent humidity clung to her skin and made her hair stick to her shoulders, copper flesh coated with a dried, crusted combination of wine, blood, and something far more vile. Her field of view was blocked, only seeing what rested below the tip of her nose, and she tried not to think about the numerous tally marks on her thighs. Tepidly, she lifted her hands and balanced on her knees, comprehending the heavy weight that rested atop her head.

 

Her fingertips weaved through a thin but abrasive material, some sort of veil, and palpated above. It was a large headpiece, a stiff, furry texture over taut muscle, what felt to be a bulbous snout towards the front with floppy ears to the sides. There was a jingle with each movement she made, and felt small strands of metal, most likely gold, dangling from two large, curved protrusions on top.

 

[“ _Just imagine! A lion turning into a cow. What a droll thought.”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y2w-cEbNHg)

 

She hissed at the conclusion, and was overcome with a wave of nausea.

 

Isis had already seen it before.

 

She had seen the white cow's head resting above her own with the sacred Eye of Wjdat drawn in blood on its forehead. She had seen the golden altar, inscribed with hieroglyphs, atop the black granite steps behind her. She had seen the small twin statues of Hathor in her form as Mehet-Weret upon the shrine. She had seen the large, glowing Ankh in the center of the red sun on the obsidian wall, casting a fiery light across the dark stone of the room and highlighting the transparent veil of her headpiece. She had seen the henna on her hands, the gold bangles at her wrists, the smeared burgundy lipstick, the bloody hand prints and tally marks decorating her body. She had seen the events of the night prior, roaming hands, loose ties, and suits shed on the floor.

 

She had seen the slaughtered calf at her knees.

 

The Millennium Necklace had shown her all these things, braced her for the sight of the oncoming barbarity, but one thing her Item could never have prepared her for was the smell.

 

A viscous blend dripped through her fingers as she wretched into her hands, a failed effort to cover her nose and block the scent of the rotten veal before her. A thick texture clung to her throat and left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, all of it sugars and proteins, but none of it real food. She continued to heave and gasp as her head spun from the scent of dead flesh, and her mind replayed the revelries with every expulsion that lingered on her tongue. When she finally exhausted the contents of her stomach and the cramping of her diaphragm faded, Isis moved her hands away from her face and hugged herself in a crouch. Her nails dug into her shoulders, a sharp pain that did little to distract herself from her memories as she trembled and sobbed, tears mixing with the red fingerprints on her cheeks.

 

She felt a warmth spread across her collar, the eye of the Millennium Necklace pulsing with light and showing her the path, the fruits of her labors and the assurance of what was to come, but the vision was blurred by her mind.

 

The mantra repeated.

 

_Not again._

 

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Red passed his lips and lingered on his tongue, a tart blend with memorable bite.

 

The stem rolled between his fingers, the light of the wardrobe glinting off the glass.

 

Really, a pity she probably didn't remember the taste.

 

 _Everything_ _else_ , however...

 

Damn, what a woman.

 

He had marveled at the way her hair fanned over the sheets when he dropped her on the bed, raven silk against scarlet-dyed eucalyptus, caramel skin aglow and her adornments glinting in the surrounding candlelight, bathed in gold.

 

It had been spoiled by all the black of The Decadent Authoritarian, not at all suitable for his party and something he remedied with marginal struggle. Even after increasing the dosage, she still thumped and wiggled with small, incoherent protests and little bites on his hands ( _nibbles_ , really) as he peeled away the ebony to reveal the underlying bronze.

 

He wondered if her resistance was due to sheer willpower or her unique breeding. He wondered to her lineage, how a creature such as her could rise from a hole in the sand and shine so.

 

A dainty thing, she was, but certainly not delicate.

 

Red swirled once, twice, three times in the glass, and flowed through his lips.

 

 _Very_ tart.

 

He strolled through the expansive wardrobe, fingers trailing over each article. Some of it silk, some of it lace, much of it Egyptian cotton and leather and fur and taxidermy heads.

 

Antlers and horns.

 

Signs of the devil.

 

Of witches.

 

 _Goddesses_.

 

Hathor's Bounty had been a brilliant fit for her (then again, _all_ the costumes he made were brilliant), magnificent in every regard, and it all came together so well with the altar in her play room, but he languished in that the headpiece hid her eyes. Though, by the time they had gotten to the main event, he was certain they had glossed over to black and obscured the sapphire.

 

Another sip of scarlet with a sigh.

 

Blue never suited _him_ personally, but the color was practically crafted for Cecelia. It fit her as perfectly as the Victorian aesthetic of her dress, her abode, her upbringing. Cecelia was an angel, virtuous and entrancing, proof of heaven as he drew breath. For Cecelia's eyes embodied the sky: vast, never-ending, a depth that stretched for eternity. Her eyes had been refreshing, nourishing, soothing, and he had to wonder if that same tranquility, that radiance, would pierce through the harsh amethyst of Mai's intense gaze.

 

Would blue continue to complement her when she resided within Mai's body, or would she appear more alluring in violet? He wasn't certain how to feel about that. Purple had never suited Cecelia. It was a rich color, a _decadent_ color, sinuous and intense, unbecoming of someone so seraphic.

 

Then again, would either color suit her after the ritual, after so many years of being gone? Would he need to change Cecelia's wardrobe? It was an odd thought. He had never imagined her in anything other than blue. Anything else seemed blasphemous.

 

 _Sacrilege_.

 

The color of their eyes had been all that was similar between them, but even in that, they couldn't have been more unalike.

 

Isis would look quite _ravishing_ in blue, but the lighter hues of Cecelia's garments clashed with cinnamon. For the eyes of Isis were not the sky or the heavens; they were the turbulent waters of the rivers, the sea, the mysterious depths of what lied beneath the oceans, something that came from beneath. She was the statues of black stone that rose from the cradle of civilization, the mother goddesses that were revered and detested, venerated and destroyed, trapped in a cycle of admiration and damnation and desecration and rebirth.

 

 _Witchcraft_.

 

Isis was supposed to be a flitting experience. He had every intent to leave her in that hotel room with the Gods all that time ago, wrapped in sheets stained with her blood and his indulgence, but at his most exhausted, his most vulnerable, as the sun rose over the pyramids and bled through the blinds, she whispered in his ear of a great magic, a grand ceremony, a _contract_ , and he was ensnared.

 

She was still quite sore about what he did to her brothers in order to obtain the Rod, it seemed, but she appeared to have little guilt to their adventure to gather the Scales and Ankh shortly after they formed their alliance. He remembered the small, upward turn that had graced the corner of her lip when Shadi screamed as he drowned in the light of the Eye and Necklace, the murmurs of her incantations echoing in the chamber.

 

He wondered to the origin of the leather that bound her sacred codex. It was not any animal hide he had ever seen.

 

He sipped his wine once more, and his eye remained on the row of taxidermy heads.

 

This was all for Cecelia. For when he received the Millennium Eye as a desperate widower, Shadi only promised that he could _see_ his beloved.

 

Isis promised him far, far more.

 

Though, he confessed, he took more than he should have.

 

He thought there was none other who could capture him so as his darling Cecelia, but after his fateful encounter with Isis Ishtar, he understood then the fascination of those English and French explorers of centuries past, enlightened men who found themselves entranced by the allure of those exotic women. He told himself it would be a casual affair, something to stave off the more monotonous periods in between waiting and wanting, but as the night of resurrection drew near, he had looked within himself and reconciled that he was far weaker than he would have liked to admit.

 

For Isis was not at all like Cecelia, who had been descended from Paradise and graced his walls like the saints who adorned the stained glass windows of a cathedral. Isis was descended from the moon and the forest, the lineage of wild women who drank wine like water and suckled beasts to their breasts, a force that drew upon the raw, untamed instincts of man and brought civilization to her heels. Isis was the shadows in the wood, the hidden temples beneath the cities, the flame that enticed mankind and reduced them to the ash of whence they came.

 

It was a heat that still lingered in his fingertips, still haunted by her whimpers and hisses and moans as he sank his nails and teeth into supple copper and drew his tongue along the bruised flesh. How fortunate, how accursed, how lucky, how _hexed_ he had been to cross paths with the embodiment of magic itself.

 

 _Isis_ , the loyal wife who took the pieces of her beloved and drew life from the remains as she made him whole again.

 

The primordial witch.

 

The sorceress supreme.

 

The original reanimator.

 

But she wasn't just Isis. She was Isis _Ishtar,_ the wild one, the licentious one, the mother of all whores and the essence that drove men to madness.

 

He was certain he would have perished long ago had it not been for the Eye, for his own aptitude in regards to his Item over hers. The Eye, he had been told, was derived from some sort of darkness, but the Necklace itself was pure fire. He still remembered the first time he had tried to remove it in her slumber, a pesky resistance to his earliest attempts, and he was surprised to find his fingers still intact from the effort—the burn was unreal. Not to mention that cumbersome barrier to her mind...

 

But, of course, modern alchemy took care of that.

 

What a wonder she was, even then.

 

He told himself, time and time again, that each time would be the last, but he always found himself yearning not long after. Even after his orchestrated sessions, to see her succumb to the touch of others, to make himself revile her, want her less, still, she enchanted him. In those bawdy conferences, she was a vestigial gateway, the extension of her Item, laying before him the hallowed rituals of old, the worship in her temples of millennia past.

 

His fingertip traced along the antler of a deer skull resting atop a doe-skin loin cloth, The New Diana, the first major session. He thought the woods were befitting for the occasion, but he supposed she had no fondness nor the tolerance for the mosquito bites incurred. He supposed, also, she may have been less than appreciative of having been downed with a dart to her neck. Perhaps that had been too primitive?

 

Further down the row, his eyes were drawn to Ishtar's Manticore, a fierce lion head complete with pelt and mounted antelope horns, but the details of that episode were still recent. Pegasus had thought it was amusing, but some of the staff hadn't been all that happy about her “waking up” early. He wondered, fleetingly, about Kemo's scars and shrugged at the memory.

 

Oh, to see her _enraged_!

 

She prided herself in her discipline, but it was positively resplendent to see her come loose—not undone, _never_ undone. Croquet had tried to warn him earlier today not to visit her in her bath as she recovered from last night's events, but what sort of host would he be if he didn't check on his guest of honor after all the festivities?

 

A canine tooth moved over his lip, looking at the wolf-headdress, an in-progress piece he hadn't yet named. Mayhaps she would prefer that one to the cow of Hathor's Bounty, he thought, and rubbed the side of his scalp. A very small bump from when she had chucked a shampoo bottle at his head after he had poked it through the door. Astonishing to see her spirit intact, even after all that.

 

He remembered all that time ago, when she entered his room in Egypt, the gem at her forehead and the gold wrapping around her hair, the glint of her Item as her cinnamon flesh beckoned for his touch. All that radiance seemed at odds with the plain white dress she favored.

 

He finished the last of his wine, and he wrinkled his nose.

 

He had little hint to her prior endeavors before their alliance, but after all he had done, and whatever happened with the guards afterward, she was far past the point of wearing white.

 

It was an ill-suiting color for her, regardless.

 

White was too bland, too banal, too lifeless for the likes of her. He dressed her often in black, sometimes lavender or scarlet and the occasional teal or turquoise, but always, _always_ she was to have gold. Like honey found in uncovered tombs and bars sealed away in vaults, she endured over time with little loss to her personal properties. After whatever she faced in Egypt, after everything he did, had others do, still, she remained unaltered, unbroken.

 

A constant challenge.

 

A never-ending game.

 

Nirvana?

 

 _Eternity_.

 

He turned to the mirror at the end of the wardrobe, reflecting on the gleam from the Millennium Eye and the glow of amber, preservation and revival, from his own person. How well she complemented him when dressed accordingly.

 

He was reminded of their agreement, and he wished he hadn't been so hasty to finish his wine. After tomorrow night, Cecelia was to be in his arms, and Isis was to take the rest of the Items and the Gods to her king.

 

Pegasus smirked.

 

What was a nameless king to a divine steed?

 

Cecelia had never given any inclinations to such, but he found himself enthralled with the idea of alabaster and blonde against copper and obsidian. If his first love were to find it distasteful, well, it would be such a pity, but the castle was vast and his resources endless. The sorceress supreme could live quite comfortably in the play room, amidst her relics and curios to keep her company when his attention was elsewhere. She would protest, certainly, as it was just her nature, but so long as he had his will and the Eye, she would yield to her creature comforts in due time.

 

And, of course, he would provide her with all the appropriate trappings.

 

He would have her in nothing other than gold.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“I didn't know how I was gonna feel going at her with that cow head, but man, that party was intense!”

 

“I don't know. I liked her in the deer costume better.”

 

“Aw, yeah, she was really hot in that one! But at least she didn't go nuts in middle of it like that last time with the lion outfit.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that whole mess. Kemo has a scar down there now!”

 

“No shit?”

 

“What, you didn't notice last night? You could see where she bit him and everything when she woke up. I think Pegasus doubled the dose or something because of that.”

 

“In case you missed the part where boss-man told us to 'thoroughly worship the Mistress of the West', I was focused on other things than looking at Kemo's mangled goods.”

 

Mai grimaced as she took a sip of iced water from a small paper cup with a blue floral print. Yesterday's event with the tube left a slight burning in her throat (the guards had “accidentally” scratched her esophagus upon insertion, fucking assholes), and she was uncertain if the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach was due to the sensitivities caused by the ceremonial smoothie or a sense of pity for the witch doctor. Should she have felt guilty for not _wanting_ to feel any sympathy? The witch doctor never showed any intention of helping her out of this fine mess, but she wondered just what Pegasus held over her head to deal with all the mistreatment. Why the loyalty to someone who kept her like a not-so-personal plaything?

 

Was he _paying_ her to do all this? If that was the case, she was highest priced hooker Mai had ever seen, and the most desperate. She knew for a fact that the particular episode the guards wouldn't stop blathering about all day was certainly not the first time—she always overheard the details of Pegasus' “special sessions”. How in the hell could a woman stay sane after so many men? All the money in the world couldn't be worth the therapy that would be needed afterward.

 

Unless the witch doctor wasn't sane at all. That certainly would have explained how a person could honestly believe they had the power to bring someone back from the dead through making the intended host consume water fowl and beer every day.

 

With another sip of water, Mai's thoughts wandered to all the different outfits he made her wear, remembered that strange eye on the gold trinkets they possessed, and the blonde curled her lip after she swallowed. Maybe it wasn't all that complicated. Maybe, at the end of the day, the witch doctor just had some seriously twisted kink going on. Pegasus may have just caught her attention at a cult meet-up one night, stared deeply into her eyes as they drank fresh goat's blood out of a goblet, and fell for one another during the communal orgy in its entrails after the witch doctor strangled him to orgasm with a line of intestine. Mai wouldn't have put the scenario past either of them.

 

Sickos.

 

The guards stopped with their lurid reminiscing when they heard a familiar series of taps echoing down the white hallway. Mai had to wonder why they chose to act so formal in the witch doctor's presence after everything they did to her. Just what power did this woman have?

 

As she approached, Mai assessed that her present garb was more conservative than it had been yesterday, and she immediately recognized it as the witch doctor's usual uniform. All that remained from yesterday's attire was the clipboard and pen.

 

The white lab coat trailed just below her knees, draped over a fitting black pencil skirt and dark violet blouse to match, buttons parted to reveal that godforsaken necklace and the soft curve of her tanned bust. Resting comfortably over the right chest pocket of the lab coat was a golden ankh pendant over a pentacle, the emblem that had Mai calling her the “witch doctor” from the beginning. Her hair was tied in a loose, low bun, and instead of the gaudy pilot sunglasses, there sat a prominent black frame around sleek half-mooned lenses. Those reading glasses were purely for show, Mai was certain, and she cursed herself for thinking even a moment that the witch doctor had a pretty set of eyes. It was a shame that shade of blue looked just as frigid as the person they belonged to.

 

Her posture was the same rail-straight rigidness as it had always been, but it was at odds with the subtle limp Mai observed. She didn't know how the woman was able to balance at all on the black kitten heels after overhearing what happened last night.

 

Mai shook her head with a wince as finished off the last of her water. The witch doctor didn't deserve her pity.

 

“I see you've refused your breakfast and lunch again,” she uttered crisply as she flipped through her papers. “Do we need to repeat our discussion?”

 

“Not at all,” Mai replied with a shrug, a slight rasp as she spoke. “The suits fucked up my throat expertly with that tube. How much medical training do you hacks really have?”

 

“You harmed the intended host?” the witch doctor rolled her head to one shoulder and glared at one of the guards.

 

“The bitch wouldn't sit still,” said one.

 

“We tried our best, but—” said the other, and was quickly cut off.

 

“I don't have time for your excuses,” she said as she jotted something down on her board. “I'll make note of it. Fork or tube today, Miss Valentine?”

 

“Aww, you're still pretending like I have a choice?” Mai cooed, crunching the paper cup in her fist and reclining on her bed. “You're funny.”

 

“I am asking out of common courtesy, as the next serving will be your last solid meal.”

 

“You consider a smoothie a solid?”

 

“ _Your last meal._ ”

 

The correction was pointed, purposeful, resonating a bitter cold, as though each word had been carved on a frozen window pane and left a burn on one's fingertips.

 

Mai swallowed.

 

“... Fork, please.”

 

“Refreshing to see you've remembered your manners today,” the witch doctor intoned, and Mai grit her teeth at the remark. “I advise you cherish this meal, Miss Valentine. You are to go through a full cleanse for tomorrow's night's ritual, so you will be eating very light in the morning.”

 

“A _cleanse_?” Mai asked with a frown. “For tomorrow?”

 

_Shit, already?_

 

She wasn't supposed to be here this long. She was supposed to have escaped by now.

 

_Shit._

 

_Shit._

 

_Shit._

 

There still had to be a way out.

 

“Though it is not listed in my codex, I will request a glass of wine with your breakfast as a sweetening agent. The Egyptian blue lotus tends to be very bitter.”

 

_You're one to talk._

 

“I'm eating _flowers_ tomorrow?” Mai said aloud.

 

“Only for the morning,” the witch doctor informed, clicking her pen against the clipboard and placing full attention on Mai. “Once it is certain they have taken effect, we can proceed with the cleanse.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mai urged, grinding the cup in her fist as she leaned forward, towards the edge of her bed. “What effect?”

 

The witch doctor didn't miss a beat.

 

“There are psychoactive properties to the lotus, as well as a sedating—”

 

“You're _drugging_ _me_?” Mai shouted, her imagination drifting to everything the guards recalled about Pegasus' “bachelor party”.

 

 _There is no_ fucking way _I'm letting that sicko creep—_

 

“Would you prefer to be fully alert for the cleanse, Miss Valentine?”

 

Spoken in a manner that indicated Mai had no say in the unraveling events, a rhetorical question.

 

“When you say 'cleanse', are you trying to tell me—”

 

“Another tube, I'm afraid,” the witch doctor shrugged half-heartedly. “Not for eating.”

 

Mai could feel the guards half grimace-half grin at the words.

 

“You fucking disgusting bitch!” Mai hissed. She balled the paper cup as tightly as she could and threw it at the witch doctor's head. The Egyptian sighed and batted the offending piece away with her clipboard before it could make contact.

 

“I understand your frustrations, Miss Valentine, but I am telling you all this to prepare you for—”

 

“How the _fuck_ can you act so _clinical_ about all this?!” Mai growled, leaping off the bed and getting to her feet, stomping towards the bars until all the slack was taken out of her chains. “How the _fuck_ can you find it in yourself to act so calm when you look another woman in the eye as you tell her she's getting a _fucking_ _enema_ before she gets sacrificed to the devil?!”

 

“The devil, so far as what you are thinking, Miss Valentine, has no involvement in what will transpire tomorrow,” the witch doctor relayed evenly.

 

“Then what do you _really_ think of Maximillion Pegasus?”

 

A brief silence fell between them, and Mai noticed a small quiver in the witch doctor's lips before her eyes twitched, once, behind the faux reading glasses.

 

“What is he to you?” Mai hissed.

 

“... That is not your concern, Miss Valentine.”

 

“The fuck, 'not my concern'? _It is my concern!”_ Mai blared, her voice bouncing off the edges of the hallway beyond her cell. “You're _helping_ _him_ do all this! Since that bastard had me locked me up, _not_ _once_ has he come down here to see me, but I've seen _you_ every day! Every single _fucking day_ , you come trouncing down here in a pair of 'fuck me heels' with a goddamned chart in your hands and proceed to tell me how you're going to make my life just a little bit worse until the Satanic showdown!”

 

“Have some control, Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor gnarled through her teeth, nails digging into the clipboard. A small, splintering sound could be heard beneath the copper fingertips.

 

“ _Control_?!” Mai guffawed. The blonde took a step back to put slack in her chains and raised her wrists, shaking her hands to make the titanium rattle behind her. “Has Pegasus and his lackeys fucked you blind, or does 'control' mean something different where you come from?”

 

The witch doctor opened her mouth to reply, but Mai interrupted with another thought.

 

“ _Egypt_ , right? Read an article about it in an old _Ms._ magazine way back. Must have been a real shit-show for you growing up. Oh, but look at you now! Witchy-bitch gets to act all high and mighty because she nabbed herself a rich American boyfriend with his own private island. So, what, did he promise to marry you after he gets his rocks off watching you run your hundredth train?”

 

Both guards sputtered and covered their mouths, turning away as they chortled with an “Oooooh!”

 

The witch doctor chose to ignore them, for the time being.

 

“Cease with your incessant ranting, _right_ _now_ ,” she commanded, and Mai took some small satisfaction in seeing her hands shake around her clipboard. “You know _nothing_ , Miss Valentine.”

 

“I know plenty enough, honey!” Mai screeched. “You have some fucking _nerve_ to think you can hold yourself above me, all while you get on your hands and knees for that pompous cyclops and let him pass you around like a platter of hors d'oeuvres at his latest fundraiser!”

 

The guards simpered at the riposte, quietly hoping for a cat-fight to erupt. This was the most they had ever seen these two go at it.

 

“You have no idea the scale of what is in motion here,” the witch doctor growled, clutching the chart to her chest as though trying to make it merge with her person. “You are nothing more than a piece on a game board, Miss Valentine.”

 

“You're the only _piece_ I see here, honey!” Mai spat. “From one woman to another, you're a pretty shitty strategist if your ultimate game plan involves getting spit-roasted like a hog.”

 

The guards turned away once more, one muttering “ _Goddamn!_ ” under his breath while the other bit his lip and tried not to laugh.

 

There was a lull then, and the witch doctor loosened her grip on her notes. She cocked her jaw forward and she took off her glasses, scratching at her brow with her thumb, feigning an itch, before she allowed the hand to fall on her hip.

 

“Leave me alone with Miss Valentine,” she said, and Mai inhaled sharply through her teeth, feeling a sudden chill run over her back as the witch doctor narrowed her eyes. The guards balked at the order, and one spoke.

 

“B-but Mister Pegasus said—”

 

“Absolutely nothing in regards to _your_ thoughts on my management of the host,” the witch doctor snapped, gaze still focused on Mai beyond the bars. “While Mister Pegasus allows you several _freedoms_ in his castle, he has given me complete authority over the holding cells and all matters pertaining to the ceremony. Do you dispute this?”

 

“N-no, ma'am,” the guard hissed, and Mai couldn't help but wonder if she imagined the quick flash from the witch doctor's necklace.

 

“Good,” she replied brusquely. “The two of you will go assist the guards at the Dark Thing's cell. I requested his position to change today, and I am certain they will appreciate the assistance.”

 

Mai's brows jerked at that. _Dark_ _Thing_?

 

“Ah, fuck,” one guard muttered under his breath. Nothing more was said (at least within the witch doctor's ear shot), and she waited until she heard the sound of a door opening and closing shut.

 

“...”

 

“...”

 

“... So, just us girls now, huh?” Mai asked, suddenly afraid. She'd never been alone with the witch doctor before—she never thought Pegasus allowed it. Yet if what the witch doctor said was true, that she held complete control over Mai's containment, then all this time, she was—

 

“Yes, just us,” the witch doctor replied, sliding the reading glasses back across the bridge of her nose with the small tilt forward. She dipped her hand into the chest pocket of her lab coat and revealed a key card. With a small “beep” against the reader on the wall beside the entrance, the black marble gate parted with a click and whirr.

 

“Wha-what are you doing?” Mai asked with a tremor.

 

“You are a skilled duelist, are you not, Miss Valentine?” the witch doctor inquired, advancing towards the blonde and digging a pair of keys out of her coat, cradling her clipboard in her elbow. “An accomplished _strategist_ in many respects, though I suppose it is not surprising given your history.”

 

“What are you talking abou—”

 

“Present your hands to me,” she said simply. Mai instinctively brought them to her chest and recoiled from the order.

 

“It will be difficult to unlock your shackles if you hold them away from me, Miss Valentine.” She jangled the keys with the words.

 

“... Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because I want you to walk out of this cell.”

 

“... You're lying,” Mai whispered, shaking her head and taking a step back.

 

“When have I lied to you, Miss Valentine?”

 

Mai ground her teeth with a deep breath, digging through her memories. Pegasus had definitely lied to her, but she begrudgingly had to admit that the witch doctor never deviated from anything she said.

 

She had only said things that Mai never liked.

 

“Why are you helping me now?” Mai asked with a suspicious glare. “What is the catch?”

 

“There is no 'catch', Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor replied, curling her fingers inward and gesturing for Mai to offer her wrist. “I opened your cell so I could unlock your bonds.”

 

“... This is a trap,” Mai said, taking another step back. “You're going to hurt me, somehow.”

 

“I will not lay a finger on you once your shackles are undone, Miss Valentine,” promised the witch doctor. “You have my word.”

 

“What is your word worth?”

 

“What worth is your freedom?”

 

Mai took another sharp breath.

 

“I mean what I say, Miss Valentine,” said the witch doctor. “Once I unlock you, I will walk away from you and stand on the other side of the door. What you decide to do then is entirely up to you.”

 

“... Why should I trust you?”

 

“Who else will give you this opportunity, Miss Valentine?”

 

Mai's fingers curled and uncurled against her collar, knees feeling light at the question. When was she going to have this opportunity again?

 

But after everything Mai had said to her...

 

“There's more to what you say,” Mai said.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

That was the first time she ever saw the witch doctor smile, and Mai decided she didn't like the expression.

 

“But would you rather refuse and spend your final moments wondering what would have been had you taken my offer?” the witch doctor inquired.

 

A shaky breath escaped from Mai's lips, her heart thrumming beneath her fingers, whispers coming from the nightstand, the sound of a hawk's cry and beating wings.

 

“You promise not to lay a hand on me?” Mai asked. “And you promise not to call the guards?”

 

The witch doctor made an “X” across her chest with her index finger.

 

“May my heart sink as a stone upon the scales in the Hall of Two Truths should I act otherwise.”

 

“... Okay, whatever,” Mai shrugged with an upturned lip. She assumed those words meant something significant.

 

She presented her wrists and the witch doctor unlocked them with two quick, seamless turns. She then knelt at Mai's feet to unlock the shackles at her ankles, and the blonde had to resist the sudden urge to kick the witch doctor's head when those bonds, too, came undone.

 

“That is all,” the witch doctor stated, and she stood up with a small roll to her shoulders. Once again, Mai noticed the subtle limp in her stride as she walked to the other side of the cell gate, staring at Mai expectantly as she held the clipboard to her chest.

 

For a long moment, Mai focused on deep, slow breaths, moving over to the nightstand to retrieve her most treasured possessions. She would not forget her deck.

 

The voices swirled in Mai's skull, swarmed within her ears, and she shook her head with a grimace. All that filled her mind was the image of fluttering wings and an open sky as she made her way to the entrance, but a screech stopped her in her tracks as she locked eyes with the witch doctor.

 

“Is something the matter, Miss Valentine?”

 

Once again, the witch doctor smiled, and Mai inherently felt something was amiss.

 

The witch doctor _never_ smiled, because the witch doctor was never amused.

 

Mai was being treated as entertainment.

 

Entertainment on Pegasus' island meant—

 

“I should warn you, this gate is on a timer, Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor interrupted her inner workings. “This is the only chance I am giving you to walk out of this cell. I will not open it for you again when it closes.”

 

Mai cursed at herself when she found she had been shaking, embarrassing herself in front of this smug bitch. She was only as tall as Mai due to the kitten heels, and was more petite than Mai, and was considerably weakened from the prior night's events. If she tried to do anything funny, Mai could rattle her and knock her out with brute force. She had that much on her side, at least.

 

Bridling herself and throwing a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, Mai's feet padded lightly against the iridescent floor, deck gripped tightly in her left hand as she kept her right hand prepped behind her ear, already in place to wind up for a punch if there was any need to send it. The witch doctor, however, paid little attention to Mai's exit, busying herself with flipping through her notes and clicking her pen against the board.

 

Mai refused to make eye contact as she proceeded with her first step beyond the cell gate, and she took a hurried moment to glance left, then right, down the hallway. Both directions were long, empty stretches, pale stone walls decorated with Egyptian hieroglyphs, and Mai furrowed her brow when she tried to remember which direction she had been brought all that time ago.

 

“Is something wrong, Miss Valentine?” the witch doctor asked, her eyes focused on the board in front of her, but her attention solely on Mai.

 

“Nothing at all,” Mai fibbed with a furrowed brow.

 

“The guards went that way,” the witch doctor pointed to the right with her pen.

 

“The exit, however, is that way,” she pointed to the left.

 

“I don't need your help navigating,” Mai snapped.

 

“Of course not,” the witch doctor said, and Mai was sorely tempted to slap the small, pompous smirk off her face.

 

But there was no time, even for that. Every second counted.

 

As Mai stalked determinedly down the hall to the left, the witch doctor hummed behind her, and Mai found something disconcerting settling into her stomach at the sound. She chose to ignore it and kept walking, preparing herself for an unexpected surprise when she would eventually reach the end.

 

_Damn, this is a long hall._

 

Her mind wandered as she strode down the long stretch. What would she do if she ran into more guards? They had taken her clothes and her shoes, so it wasn't as though she had to option of burying a high heel into someone's eye, but she did have a long set of nails and ample reflexes. The guards had it over her in bulk, but she had never met a man who had eyes made of steel.

 

Gold, perhaps, so far as Pegasus was concerned, but that was purely cosmetic.

 

_Damn, this is a long hall._

 

Mai's thoughts continued to wander, or rather, linger. What would she do if she came across that pretty bastard? He was taller than her, sure, but he struck her as the type that would flail wildly when confronted or startled. The man had hired help his whole life. What knowledge or aptitude would an entitled rich boy like Pegasus possibly have in getting his own hands dirty?

 

_Damn, this is a long hall._

 

_Wait a minute._

 

“Trouble, Miss Valentine?” came the witch doctor's voice behind her.

 

Behind her?

 

Mai gasped as she looked over her shoulder and saw the witch doctor leaning against the bars to her cell, scrawling something on her clipboard.

 

But how can that be? Mai had been walking for—

 

“It can be very difficult to find your way out of a noxious circumstance when someone places an obstruction in your path,” the witch doctor crooned. “Or an _illusion_.”

 

“You...” Mai shivered, and she tried not to look into the shimmering light on the witch doctor's necklace. “You... What did you—”

 

“You made it out of the cell with my assistance, but what was going to be your plan had you run into Pegasus' guards, Miss Valentine?”

 

Mai bristled at the question.

 

“That's none of your fucking—”

 

“Your reluctance to share your scheme indicates that it wasn't a very good one, Miss Valentine.”

 

A semblance of fear crossed Mai's eyes.

 

“You promised me you wouldn't call the guards!”

 

“And I did no such thing,” the witch doctor said, “but can you honestly tell me that you thought there was a chance you would make it as far as the castle entrance without encountering one?”

 

Mai nearly split the lining of her cheek when her teeth locked into place.

 

“Or did you not see that far ahead in your escape plan?” the witch doctor continued, making a show of flipping through her papers, adjusting the glasses at the bridge of her nose. “Odd that you thought yourself qualified to accuse me of being a 'shitty strategist' when you couldn't bring yourself to think beyond the limits of one hallway.”

 

“Y-you... You tricked me,” Mai uttered weakly, turning towards her as she balled her right hand into a fist. “I knew it. You tricked me. You _lied_ to me.”

 

“I confess I was _testing_ you, Miss Valentine, but I did not lie.”

 

“Bullshit!” Mai cried. “I don't know what the hell you did, but you said wanted to let me go—”

 

“I _said_ I wanted you to walk out of your cell, Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor said matter-of-factly, looking at her over the rims of the glasses. “Nothing more.”

 

“So you let me out... You made me think there was a chance... All so you could play a _fucking_ _game_?!”

 

“Yes,” the witch doctor admitted simply.

 

“Why?” Mai growled.

 

“Because you need a lesson in where you stand in the _ultimate game plan_.”

 

Mai tried to raise her hand to slap the witch doctor across her face, to send those glasses (which had made her look even more like a cocky know-it-all) flying, but her limbs were suddenly overcome with a heavy sensation, as though they had been dipped in quick-drying concrete and placed in individual blocks. The blonde cringed with a groan as the light of the witch doctor's necklace blinded her. She could hear the taps of the kitten heels against the polished tile as she stood closer to Mai.

 

“You like to think yourself a gazelle that has escaped the leopard's jaws, Miss Valentine, but you are naught more than a lamb with its leg caught in the crevice of a wolf's den.”

 

Mai couldn't understand why her jaw wouldn't move, why her knees buckled and slammed against the floor. The witch doctor wasn't touching her. So why—

 

“You like to talk as though you have me all figured out, but I know _everything_ about _you_ , Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor lulled. She held the clipboard behind her back and circled her like a hungry tiger, lifting her feet from the knees and rolling her hips with her shoulders. “I know your troubled past, I know your tumultuous present, and I know all about your _brief_ future.”

 

Mai wanted to scream when the light of the witch doctor's necklace enveloped her. It was an appalling sensation, like she had dropped a lit match on her body after it had been doused with gasoline.

 

Her face thumped against a Persian rug and the pitter-patter of rain filled her ears.

 

“ _I know about the night you received word that your parents had died in that car accident.”_

 

When Mai lifted her head, she saw a little girl in an aquamarine nightgown with long, fluffy blonde hair that came just above her knees. Atop her head was a small violet bow, canted to the right side, and she walked barefoot on the plush wool carpet with a sniffle. The lights were off, but she could make out the features of the luxurious, yet Spartan, room when lightning flashed in the wide-paned windows that reached the floor.

 

“The... The fuck?” Mai hissed. Why was she in her old house?

 

“ _I_ _know it had_ _rained especially hard that month,_ _an influence of a large t_ _yphoon that_ _rolled through the Pacific._ _”_

 

“Shut... Shut up,” Mai shivered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Where are you, you bitch?”

 

“ _I know y_ _our family's attorney had very little experience with children, and had no idea how to explain the passing of a loved one to_ _you_ _in tandem with_ _handling_ _your inheritance._ _Death_ _was not_ _a_ _hardened_ _concept to you at the time, and you spent a_ _week_ _looking to the_ _skies wondering when your mother and father would be back.”_

 

“Mommy, Daddy, where are you?” young Mai sniffled. “I'm lonely.”

 

“Fuck you!” Mai cried, raising up to her knees and whipping her head back and forth. “Where are you? Why are you showing me this?!”

 

“ _You sound distraught, Miss Valentine.”_

 

The witch doctor's tone was anything but concerned.

 

“That's kind of expected when you're projecting a video of someone's most painful memories,” Mai spat. “Stop it!”

 

“ _I_ _am inclined to_ _agree, Miss Valentine. It is indeed_ _very hard to watch a little girl contemplate the intricacies of death._ _P_ _erhaps you would hav_ _e_ _better_ _understood_ _had the attorney shown you the pictures.”_

 

Lightning flashed and Mai brought her arms to cover her face, a tingling to her eyes as stars swam in her vision. As the small lights faded and gave way to black, Mai felt her white lace chemise stick to her skin and her hair was damp. She dared to drop her arms and saw that her younger self and house had disappeared. She was now kneeling in the middle of a highway during a torrential downpour, raindrops falling at a speed that made the ground appear as though it was coated with mist.

 

“ _I am aware you have no memory of your parents' faces, Miss Valentine. I do hope this remedies your curiosity.”_

 

And Mai screamed.

 

Between her hands was a woman's head, violet eyes and blonde hair very much like her own, but not entirely so. Mai promptly dropped it, and the head landed with a wet thud against the tarmac, diamond earrings clinking with a small bounce. She went to cover her mouth with a sob, but stopped when she saw blood coating her hands, strands of what she presumed to be her mother's hair caked to her fingers.

 

Small, reddish streams in the rain framed her knees and she turned her head to the source. A silver '77 Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible was wrapped around a telephone pole, a headless body sporting a brilliant red dress from a _Lacroix_ line draped across the folded bonnet, arms and legs limp and spread at odd angles, one foot clad with a red stiletto heel while the other was bare. She had little to see of her father's face, mashed and mangled against the dash, imbedded with the glass of the shattered windshield. The steering wheel impaled through his chest had deformed his spine on the other side, creating an unsightly hunchback through the Italian cut suit.

 

“ _Would something this straight-forward have helped you accept it more readily back then, Miss Valentine?”_

 

“Stop it!” Mai cried. “Stop it! Stop it! I don't want to see this! Get me out of here!”

 

“ _... As you wish.”_

 

With a thunder clap and a final flash of lightning, Mai jolted from her place on the floor with a startled gasp. Shaking hands ran through her hair, dry and voluminous, but she recoiled when she saw the titanium cuffs settled back to their comfortable place on her person as she knelt on the Swedish crafted bed. The witch doctor stood at her usual spot beyond the black marble bars, flipping through her notes, but not truly reading them.

 

“H-how... What...” Mai panted, grabbing at her chains.

 

“Your attitude gave me a sense you've been doubting my _capabilities_ as of late,” uttered the witch doctor, the eye of her necklace beaming with the words. “You need not know _all_ the details, Miss Valentine, but I shall enlighten you in that while it pales in comparison to the might of Mister Pegasus' artifact—as he is—I am more than apt to handle _your_ disposition with my Necklace.”

 

The chains rattled in Mai's grip, tears pricking the edges of her eyes as her teeth ground with a gnarl.

 

“Why did you show me that?”

 

“Because I need you to understand your place in all this, Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor intoned, pinching the edge of her glasses and gazing over the rim with a patronizing nod.

 

“My _place_?” Mai hissed. “Like a pecking order?”

 

It sounded like the sort of chicken-shit mindset she'd have.

 

“If it helps you envision it,” the witch doctor shrugged. “Every major life decision you have made derives from that night, Miss Valentine. You were born with and inherited riches most could only dream to obtain, yet you squandered it in hapless attempts to buy some semblance of family in your teens.”

 

“Shut up,” Mai growled. “You don't know _shit_.”

 

“Yet your fair-weathered friends were all absent in the end,” she continued. “When that well dried up, all those friendly faces suddenly disappeared, and you were left with no more than your wits and insecurities.”

 

“ _Shut up._ ”

 

“So you created a new persona: you decided to present yourself to the world as a solitary animal, a bird of prey. But even hawks seek out partners, Miss Valentine.” The witch doctor tapped on a bar with the end of her pen. “Your favored Harpie Lady has her sisters and her dragon, but what have _you_ in the end, Miss Valentine?”

 

“Pegasus has rubbed off on you in more ways than one,” Mai seethed. “You just _love_ to hear yourself talk, don't you?”

 

A miserable whine escaped from Mai's throat as the damned necklace shined once more, a lick of fire crawling across her violet eyes. Images of her mother's head and her father's face flooded her mind.

 

“I can gladly _show_ you all the major milestones of your life thus far if you are tired of my abridged analysis, Miss Valentine.”

 

“Stop it! _Stop_ it!” Mai scratched at her eyes. “I'll let you talk!”

 

The blonde slumped back into the bed as the witch doctor cut off the traumatic clip-show.

 

“Y-you... You...” Mai stuttered. “You're a twisted bitch, you know that?”

 

“'Twisted' would have been had I decided to show you what happened with your college 'friends' on your prom night, Miss Valentine.”

 

Amethyst eyes blanched as sapphire narrowed.

 

A small, uncontrollable chatter of her teeth.

 

Sweat forming on her brow.

 

Palms damp.

 

She had tried to forget.

 

She had never told anyone—

 

“I do not tout myself as an expert in the matters of waste management, Miss Valentine, but I am of the impression that is not the intended method for recycling beer bottles.”

 

“ _God_ , you...” Mai moaned, hiding her face in her knees as she curled into a ball. The images bombarding her head had nothing to do with the witch doctor's necklace. “You really are _sick_.”

 

“I am what I need to be.”

 

In that moment, Mai found herself preferring the searing fire of the witch doctor's necklace to the dismal air of her words.

 

There was something inhuman to the tone, a void therein that a person shouldn't have been capable.

 

What she needs to be?

 

_Then what are you?_

 

“You have suffered greatly throughout your life, Miss Valentine. Some of it due to the hand of Fate, some of it self-inflicted,” the witch doctor hummed. “Yet the thread that tied it all together was some small semblance of _hope_ , that there was some reason, some _purpose_ to your agony. However, as you well know, I am not in the habit of lying, so I want you to listen, and listen well, because I am only going to say this to you _once_.”

 

The witch doctor leaned her head into a slot in the gate, and she wrapped her hands around the bars for a bracing effect.

 

Mai could see her teeth, but she wasn't smiling.

 

“ _Everything_ that has happened thus far was all so you could come _here_ , Miss Valentine. _That_ was Fate's design for you; nothing more, nothing less. You have spent your life thinking so long as you keep your head up high and keep _fighting_ , there's a brighter horizon, a better tomorrow. However, I know what awaits you, Miss Valentine. I have _foreseen_ it.”

 

“W-what?” Mai squeaked. “I die and Pegasus gets to cross 'necrophilia' off his 'fuck it' list?”

 

“Ah, still _fighting_ to the end,” the witch doctor sighed dreamily, stroking a bar. “Yes, and no. You die, but there's more.”

 

“There's more beyond my death?” Mai croaked.

 

“Such an _Elegant_ _Egotist_ ,” she quipped, and Mai found that she didn't like it when the witch doctor attempted humor. “Life as we know it doesn't end because _you're_ disposed, Miss Valentine. There is more, _before_ you die.”

 

“... And what happens then?” Mai asked, hugging her knees to her chest.

 

“Hope dies,” the witch doctor sighed. “The delicate world you built for yourself in your mind's eye is shattered; all the 'what ifs' and 'what could have beens' cease to be. That's the end.”

 

“And that's _funny_ to you?” Mai shuddered.

 

“After enduring your recalcitrant remarks on my torment, yes, Miss Valentine, watching the light drain from your eyes before you die will indeed be amusing to me.”

 

A lump formed in Mai's throat.

 

“So... that's it then?” Mai whispered. “You put me through this 'game' just to tell me I'm destined to die here?”

 

“Not at all, Miss Valentine,” the witch doctor shook her head, leaning away from the bars and releasing her grip. “It was not my intention to tell you your place in the grander scheme of things was to _die_.”

 

“But that's what's going to happen.”

 

“But that is not what I wanted to tell you,” the witch doctor chastised. “Your death is _very_ important, Miss Valentine. More important than you know. Your _life_ , however...”

 

Mai tried to swallow the lump in her throat and failed.

 

“You will see when the time comes, Miss Valentine: your life, your hopes, your dreams, your joys, your _suffering_ , and when you to stare into the eye of Fate, you will realize, right then and there, just how _little_ it all means.”

 

A drop of blood splashed against Mai's forearm, and it was only then she realized that she had been biting her lip while she listened.

 

The witch doctor, having said her piece, turned on her heel and began to saunter away.

 

“Savor your dinner when it comes, Miss Valentine, and do try to get some rest in the meantime. [Tomorrow is a big day.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yP9olT_TdM)”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, just... wow. What a nasty, mean-spirited chapter. You'd think something was wrong with me from reading it, but truth be told, I have a happy home life and had a relatively stable childhood, so I really don't know where any of this came from. I honestly don't know where I dug this all up.
> 
> All I know is that everyone thus far is in a very dark place, and it's only going to get darker.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next update on the 28th.
> 
> Or, once again, find something happier.


	3. I I I

_Que sera sera_  
_Whatever will be will be_  
_The future's not ours to see  
_ _Que sera sera_

 

Que sera sera, _Pink Martini_

 

**I I I**

 

Before the Nameless Pharaoh, before the pieces of Ra-Horakhty, before her own hallowed namesake, her first memory had been of The Creator.

 

“She is The Terrifying One,” she remembered her mother whispering in her ear with warm hands on her shoulders. “Are you able to read the inscription there, Isis?”

 

It was not an unreasonable question. She was bright for her age, and she remembered tracing over the image of the shield and crossed arrows with her stubby little fingers, wondering how the bronze statue of the veiled woman at the shrine could bear to stand the suckling of a crocodile at her breast.

 

She said the words slowly as she took each hieroglyph into consideration.

 

 _“_ **_I am all that has been,_  
_that is and that will be._  
**

_**No mortal has yet been able  
to lift the veil that covers me.”** _

 

“Very good,” her mother cooed. “Do you know what that means?”

 

“She is very powerful,” Isis said simply. She took her hands away from the base of the statue, clinging to her mother's robes.

 

“Yes,” her mother had nodded with a gracious smile. “She is, indeed, for it is she who brought forth the sun and weaves the realms. She decides all that has been and all that will ever be.”

 

Isis bit her lip, and it was the first time she felt nervous outside the presence of her father.

 

“But...” she had begun, twisting her mother's robes in her little hands. “What about Ma'at, Mama?

 

“What of her, little one?” her mother had asked with genuine inquiry.

 

“Why does Ma'at weigh the hearts of the dead if The Terrifying One has already decided what will happen? Is not everything decided for us, then?”

 

That was the first time she felt a sense of hopelessness, too.

 

“A _very_ good question,” her mother regarded, but still she smiled. “One can _hope_ she shows you favor in her design. Although...”

 

Her mother leaned down to her eye level and placed a finger to the tip of her nose with a small titter.

 

“The Terrifying One may _decide_ , but never forget the power of Isis is that she can _change_ fate. In that, you have a choice, my daughter.”

 

“So Isis meddles with her work?” she asked quietly.

 

“... An interesting way to put it,” her mother said with a raised brow and a tilt of her head. “Perhaps that is so.”

 

“The Terrifying One must not like her very much if she changes what she works so hard to create.”

 

“Perhaps that is so, as well...”

 

That was also the first time she saw a flash of worry cross her mother's eyes.

 

“Let us not talk anymore of such things, Isis. Give me your hand, and let us instead go to the surface to visit the bazaar.”

 

She learned later that was her mother's way of avoiding difficult situations.

 

Not long after visiting the shrine of The Terrifying One, she learned that she was given the name of the Sorceress Supreme as a blessing, as a means of opportunity to harness the magic of her patron goddess and alter the destiny of their family.

 

That was what had gone through her head when she donned the Millennium Necklace for the first time, the hope that she could salvage her family's legacy after what had happened with Malik, Rishid, and her Father, for she was all who remained after the debacle.

 

She did not find hope.

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“You're walking bow-legged, sister, but I don't see you on your high horse. Did Pegasus use you for another experiment?”

 

Isis said nothing in return, taking in the state of its current accouterments. She had checked the charts, reviewed the codex, marked the movement of the celestial bodies, and saught clarity with the Necklace. When she had all the information she needed, she had the Dark Thing moved.

 

Alignment was everything.

 

“You don't have to say anything. I can practically _smell_ it all over you, sister. There's a filth on you even a shower can't wash away.”

 

The Dark Thing's voice bounced off the cell wall. Its hands were raised above its head, hanging from chains anchored to the ceiling while it rested on its knees. It faced the wall, the Pharaoh's Memories laid bare before her and flexing slightly with each breath the Dark Thing took, rolling every now and again as it adjusted its shoulders. The lower half of its body was covered by a simple, mint green paper gown, and she supposed it was a step above sheer nudity, undoubtedly for the guards' sakes when they had to walk in to feed it.

 

Not that it would be a problem for much longer.

 

“The guards have been talking about it non-stop.”

 

She looked beyond the stainless steel bars and traced the edges of the new cell with her eyes, a simple white cube composed of even smaller squares upon closer inspection. It was far more sterile and cleanly in appearance compared to its previous drab stone holding place. She had never taken part in athletics or so much as seen the interior of a gym, but she assumed this was the typical layout for a locker room washing station: smooth white tiles, a sink with a mirror, a shower with a removable head, a drain in the center.

 

“Pegasus won't keep his promise, you know.”

 

She was beyond gullibility when it softened its voice. Malik was gone along with Rishid. That's all there was to it.

 

_It will be easier this way..._

 

“You think you can carry the destiny of the Tomb Keepers on your shoulders, but he will keep you bound on your hands and knees,” it started. “The Gods will never reach the Pharaoh, and even if that were so, I'm not going with you so easily, _sister_.”

 

“I would think you would show more gratitude,” she finally responded, adjusting the faux glasses on her nose as she stared at the back of its head. “It was only by my intervention that day that you were spared the full brunt of his penalty game.”

 

“Only because _I_ have the Pharaoh's Memories,” it barked. “Don't act so gracious, _sister,_ nor should you be so proud. He knows of _my_ importance to our family's legacy, and he's kept you on your back so mine would remain intact.”

 

Isis remained silent, double checking the last of her notes. The Dark Thing was correct in that assessment. For millennia, her family had taken on the duty, the isolation, the _mutilation_ to guard the legacy of the Nameless Pharaoh until his return, and she was not going to allow Pegasus to mar thousands of years of her ancestors' hardships in a day.

 

Not when she was _so close_.

 

“He won't let you leave,” the Dark Thing cackled. “He'll keep you as his side piece. You'll be that little bit of spice in reserve for when he gets bored with the domestic bitch.”

 

“Pegasus will abide,” she said, signing off the last of the notes and cradling the clipboard in her elbow. “There is a contract in place.”

 

“You think Pegasus will respect a _contract_?!” it guffawed, shaking its head while its shoulders shivered with the thought. “He is a spoiled child, and you are his favorite toy. Even if you had forged your agreement in blood, he would rather rip it to pieces and rot in the jaws of The Devourer than let you go.”

 

“You misunderstand,” she hummed, eyeing the Egyptian Gods before settling on the ankh in the center of the Dark Thing's back. It narrowed its eyes and its lips, cranking its neck in an attempt to look at her over its shoulder.

 

“What?” it snarled.

 

She closed her eyes and nudged the glasses up her nose once more.

 

“Worry not, Dark Thing. Fate has a plan for all of us,” she smiled. “I shall see you after the ceremony.”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

The screeching wouldn't stop.

 

Since that horrendous Egyptian blue lotus wine spritzer, it just

 

Wouldn't.

 

Fucking.

 

Stop.

 

_Shut up, goddammit!_

 

No matter how Mai pleaded and cursed, the frequency persisted. She had started pulling her hair out to combat the relentless echo in her ears, something to dull the pick axe chipping away at her skull and rattling the edges of her brain. The image of wings and talons throwing themselves against the bars of a cage wouldn't fade, no matter how hard she tried. She was certain she would have had a fantastic bald spot by now if the witch doctor hadn't intervened and told the guards to tie her down to her bed. She had screamed and thrashed the rest of the day, thumping the back of her head as hard as she could against the mattress in some hope of causing a concussion and knocking herself out, but it was too soft and absorbed all the blows.

 

_Stupid hand-stitched Swedish horsehair cotton lump of fuck—_

 

_Fuck, make it stop!_

 

_Please, God, make it stop!_

 

She wasn't sure why she was pleading to God now. It wasn't like He had ever been there before. He wasn't there when her parents died, wasn't there on her prom night, and certainly wasn't there when she touched foot on Pegasus' island.

 

Probably wasn't there at all.

 

Still, she found herself begging, praying, asking for _anything_ to make the noise stop. Even the humiliating violation of the cleanse did nothing to combat it. The screeching intensified after that, and beating wings drummed against her eyelids while claws tore at her sinuses.

 

Mai sobbed and howled and flailed when they stripped her of the chemise and rubbed her down with a blend of essential oils, before they squeezed her into some godawful Victorian dress that was several sizes too small for her bust. Why didn't she listen? Why couldn't she have been content being alone, content with the Harpies, the holograms, the imaginary voices? They had never harmed her, betrayed her like her former 'friends', never tricked her or made false promises. Why did she open that letter? Why did she accept that invitation? Why didn't she run when she had the chance?

 

Why?

 

 _Why_?

 

 _Why_ , _me_?

 

“It is your destiny, Miss Valentine,” she thought the witch doctor had murmured behind her clipboard before she stalked off, saying something about 'getting everything in place'. Through the psychedelic haze marked by the constant screeching and the scratching within her mind, she remembered reaching through the bars and grabbing at the witch doctor, only gaining fistfuls of air.

 

“Bring her down in an hour, and do restrain her in the meantime. The garment of the deceased must stay intact, and Mister Pegasus will be quite cross if it tears.”

 

The witch doctor's instructions echoed and warped through her ears, the cold noise stretching with her vision. Slashes and gashes stained her view as the world swirled around her, and she found herself desperately wanting to run head-first into the walls to make that _fucking_ _awful_ _screeching_ stop.

 

The hour felt like a minute, like a day, like a second, like a year. Mai was certain they had strapped her to the bed again, but she felt like she had been sliding across the floor and dragging herself against the ceiling. She found it miraculous she hadn't vomited in that time (or, at least, she didn't remember vomiting), and the demented suits had the _fucking_ _nerve_ to strap a ball gag in her mouth.

 

“To keep you from biting your lip again. Miss Ishtar doesn't want you to bleed on the dress.”

 

Fucking bullshit.

 

They were all getting off on this.

 

_Perverted cock-sucking sons of bitches._

 

If Pegasus and the witch doctor had rigged up a stage “down stairs” or wherever the hell it was, Mai wouldn't have been surprised.

 

She could see it all now. Pegasus would be in a long lab coat standing behind a camera while the witch doctor sported a squeaky black rubber apron and gloves to match, along with a  set of goggles on her head to complete the mad scientist vibe they were undoubtedly going for. The witch doctor would stalk around the set in a black leather corset and knee-high boots underneath all the rubber to suit the Victorian theme as they pinned her to a surgical table and laid out the saws, syringes, and speculums alongside her. Pegasus would clap with a “lights, camera, action!” and the snuff fest would kick off. There'd probably be a goat or a donkey involved somewhere and the witch doctor would eventually end her misery with a rusted nail up her nostril while Pegasus licked the blood off her boots.

 

_Fucking freaks._

 

Mai wanted to throw up so badly, but she couldn't even heave. Just what the hell was in those flowers?

 

“It is my sincerest condolences that I must escort you to the ceremonial chamber, Miss Valentine.”

 

Who was that?

 

Oh, the creepy porn 'stache dude. What's his face? Crocketts? Crochet?

 

“I harbor no ill will against you, Miss Valentine, nor do I have any fondness for what is about to take place. I am duty bound to Mister Pegasus and have been given strict instruction to adhere to Miss Ishtar's requests. I do apologize for taking part in this.”

 

Shit, when had she been untied from the bed? When did they remove the gag? Was she walking? It didn't feel like she was being carried. It felt more like she was being... rolled? What the hell was she strapped to?

 

Mai caught a glimpse of herself in the polished reflection of the white floor, and her jaw lost tension at the image.

 

They had attached her to a goddamn _hand truck_ , like she was a pile of personal possessions packed into tidy little boxes and prepped to move into a new home.

 

_Really? You assholes!_

 

“Let me go!” she shrieked. “Let me go! Let me go! _Let me go!_ ”

 

“I cannot do that, Miss Valentine,” Croquet uttered sadly behind her. “I have orders.”

 

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Macramé!” Mai slurred. “What sort of jackass goes through life named after a yarn pattern?”

 

Croquet didn't dignify the drug induced ranting with a response, strolling her along in silence until he reached the steps to the ceremonial chamber. He took careful consideration not to bounce her too roughly during transport down the stairs, and he tried to ignore the pain in his ears as Mai's shrieking bounced off the surrounding rock. The descent wasn't wholly memorable, a narrow passage of green-grey stone, but where the stairway ended, a hall began, painted hieroglyphics and images of deities with animal heads lining the walls.

 

“My goodness, quite a pair of pipes on that woman!”

 

“Hmm.”

 

The screeching in Mai's mind and whatever had been leaving her mouth ceased when she realized what lied ahead.

 

 

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

 

Maximillion Pegasus and Isis Ishtar stood at the center of the ceremonial chamber, the large portrait of Cecelia Pegasus hanging above the sacrificial altar painted with winged sun discs, framed by blazing torches on either side, casting the room with a yellow glow. To one side of Cecelia's portrait were the Egyptian Gods; to the other, the Millennium Ankh, Scales, and Rod.

 

Isis cradled the sacred codex in her arms, clothed in a white dress with golden bands encircling her waist, emphasizing her hourglass figure. Simple brown sandals covered her feet while more golden bands decorated her ankles and wrists, her shoulders bear as the top of the dress, a gold and black pattern with a green jade in the center, wrapped around her chest and linked to her back. Atop her head sat a white headdress with the golden Eye of Wjdat sitting above the gem at her forehead, and the Millennium Necklace glowed with her determined stare.

 

Pegasus slid his hands underneath the spacious arms of his flowing beige robes with a small smirk, momentarily taking his attention off Mai to look at Isis. He didn't favor the latter in white, but Isis had informed him that she needed the dress for the ritual, just as he had to be clothed in his current, drab attire.

 

He shrugged inwardly at the thought. It wasn't as though this would be an _everyday_ event. He could bear the ascetic aesthetics for the time being.

 

“Good to see you in high spirits today, Croquet,” Pegasus nodded to his butler as the mustached man wheeled Mai to where they stood. The servant responded with a brief grunt, and Isis turned her attention to the altar.

 

“Place her on the slab.”

 

“As you wish, Miss Ishtar.”

 

“Oh... fuck you all...” Mai murmured with a bowed head, shaking as Isis stared her down. She wanted to throttle everyone in the room, but her limbs felt like lead under Isis' gaze—rather, under the gaze of the Necklace, and Croquet lifted her with little struggle. Croquet secured her wrists and ankles in the golden shackles at either corner of the altar, and he stepped away with a solemn bow.

 

“Is there anything else, Miss Ishtar?”

 

“None at all, Croquet. Your role is done here. You may leave.”

 

“Not yet!” Pegasus interjected, and Isis' head slumped to her shoulder.

 

“Of course, sir,” Croquet uttered robotically, and he pulled out a glass and a bottle wine from underneath his blazer.

 

“I swear, Croquet, you're a mind reader!” Pegasus guffawed, and Mai and Isis glared daggers into his cloaked backside. “ _Now_ you're dismissed.”

 

With nothing to add (and no willingness to extend his time in the room), Croquet made a stiff, hasty exit.

 

“You're going to drink after the ceremony?” Isis droned.

 

“Well, it is a _special_ occasion, Miss Ishtar, and last I checked, your little spell book doesn't forbid imbibing after the main event.” He placed the glass and bottle off to the side, away from the altar, and Mai heard a rough, heavy sigh escape through Isis' lips.

 

“Indeed,” was all she said, fingering through her codex and tracing the words. “It is almost time to begin. Take your place here, Mister Pegasus.”

 

“Mmm... fuck you...” Mai hissed, lips quivering with the words. She tried to pull at the shackles, but her limbs weren't moving. What the hell did the witch doctor just do to her?

 

“Such foul language!” Pegasus gasped, splaying his fingertips at his collar and acting aghast. “Little wonder as to why you were always in such a poor mood after your inspections, Miss Ishtar.”

 

Isis only hummed in response, hugging the open book to her chest as she took a bundle of lit incense and waved it over Mai's body. Everything was here. Everything was as it should have been and would be. The measurements of the spacing between the Egyptian Gods and the Items on either side of the portrait were exact to the millimeter. Her Necklace at Mai's right side, the Eye at her left. The planets and the stars set in the very places they had been three-thousand years ago.

 

The Dark Thing, directly above them.

 

Isis wondered to the sort of fatigue that would transpire through the Rod, just how much of Shadi's essence remained in the Ankh and Scales, but that was all of little concern to her as she traced the raised stitching on her book while the Necklace throbbed against her collar.

 

_**What will be, will be.** _

 

The Millennium Eye pulsed in his head as he beheld Mai on the slab, holding his chin in his hand. He thought he had accounted for all her measurements when he altered the dress, but the way her bosom was nearly bursting at the seams had proven him to be far too conservative in his estimate. For a brief moment, Pegasus found himself disappointed with his prior calculations, a small wound to his pride, but the feeling didn't linger. He'd be a fool to complain about such generous additions.

 

Still, there was the matter of complementary colors. There was certainly some disappointment in that the sharp, defiant violet of her eyes clashed with the royal blue and rose pink. Well, the eyes were the window to the _soul_ , were they not? Only time would tell whether or not he would have to swap out the wardrobe.

 

“So... this is it...?” Mai struggled, looking up at Isis. Why did her face feel like it was made of iron? “This is... your twisted... little ritual?”

 

“This is the _preparation_ to the ritual, Miss Valentine,” Isis intoned, continuing to waft the incense back and forth across her person. “It cannot start until you die.”

 

“Ah, I guess that's my cue, isn't it?” Pegasus clapped. “Oh, what fun!”

 

The screeching and scratching returned to her mind, imaginary wings (or were they _real_ after all?) beating her eyelids and making them flutter. Mai winced as she bared her teeth. Her eyes scoured the room, looking for some sort of knife, a scalpel, any sort of blade.

 

“Goodness, Miss Valentine, how violent! You would really think I would resort to something so _crude_ after all the care I've placed into looking after that sumptuous body of yours?” Pegasus reprimanded with the wagging of his finger, and Mai hissed as she inhaled through her teeth.

 

_What the hell? How did he—_

 

“We have a much more _refined_ method in mind,” Pegasus tapped the Eye with a grin. “Is she ready, Miss Ishtar?”

 

“It is not a matter of _her_ readiness, Mister Pegasus,” Isis said, placing the incense aside and running her fingers over the thick book. “You may begin as you please.”

 

“Why... are you... _helping_ _him_?” Mai squeaked, a desperate appeal to the witch doctor. “He... treats you... like _shit_...”

 

“Well, that's a little harsh,” Pegasus pouted. “I took Miss Ishtar into my home. I've clothed her. I've fed her.”

 

“ _Raped_ her,” Mai snapped.

 

“Rape is such an _ugly_ word,” Pegasus sighed with the wave of his hand. “And not at all what's taken place. We have been in agreement about the _conditions_ of our relationship all this time, have we not, Miss Ishtar?”

 

“Take her soul so we can begin,” Isis demanded flatly. She was tiring of their idle chatter.

 

_Get on with it..._

 

“Don't you have... _any_ pride...?” Mai growled. “How can you still... look so _co_ _cky_... when he's _using_ you... for his _sick_... science experiment!”

 

“Oh, my!” Pegasus gasped. “My, my, my! Thank you _so much_ for that reminder, Miss Valentine! I nearly forgot!”

 

Isis' jaw cocked as she looked to the ceiling while Mai's eyes blanched.

 

“What—?”

 

“You have just added to your misery,” Isis droned, tapping her foot on the ground.

 

Mai didn't have time to register the statement as Pegasus reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a small remote.

 

“Let's add some ambiance, shall we?”

 

With the depression of a button and a small “beep”, music blared throughout the room and Pegasus sang along with the opening lyrics, spreading his hands with a dramatic flourish.

 

[“ _From my heart and from my hand, why don't people understand my intentions?_ ”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNdpCukHhJA)

 

Isis sighed in exasperation and placed a hand on her hip as she watched him bob his head to the upbeat tune, swaying and humming with the intermittent trumpets and drum beats of the song.

 

Mai's jaw parted with her eyes as she lost all her nerves.

 

_WHAT._

 

_THE._

 

_FUCK?!_

 

Was this a fucking _joke_ to him?!

 

She was about to _die_ , for Christ's sake!

 

“Really?” Isis asked with half-lidded eyes. “ _That's_ what you want to play?”

 

“Come now, Miss Ishtar!” Pegasus chided as he shimmied in place. “Who better to mark the occasion than Danny-boy and the Mystic Knights? Dance with me!”

 

“No,” Isis said. “You may keep the music if you wish, but turn the volume down so I can recite the incantations properly. The Gods are expected to make their presence known at the climax and I wish for them to hear my voice.”

 

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Mai sobbed. “You're both... so _fucked_ _up_...”

 

“And you're a dead woman,” Isis said pointedly. “Mister Pegasus...”

 

“Always such a sour puss!” Pegasus teased, tapping the volume button on the remote. “This better?”

 

“It's manageable,” Isis replied, moving her hand from her hip and fanning it over Mai's body. “Now, may we _please_ proceed?”

 

“Fuck you...” Mai sobbed, throwing her head back. “Fuck you... Fuck you... _Fuck_ _you,_ you heartless _bitch_...”

 

“My, what a vile potty mouth,” Pegasus tittered, as though scandalized, tossing the remote over his shoulder. “Let's adjust that too, shall we?”

 

Isis took a deep breath through her nostrils and pinched the edges of the codex in her hands.

 

 _Finally_.

 

The shrieking, slashing, and battering of wings dulled in Mai's head when Pegasus pulled a blank trading card from his sleeve, and the world slowed down.

 

 

… So this was it, wasn't it?

 

Mai hadn't often entertained the idea of her own death, but even in those quiet, reflective moments, she had hoped it would be a peaceful passing. If not in her slumber, then maybe on a quiet evening watching a sunset in her mid-80s. She had never imagined she'd be lured to an island in the Pacific, never imagined she'd be locked up like a bird in a cage, never imagined she'd be dressed up like a doll and thrown on a slab like a sack of meat, all so she could die to the tune of a new wave band while some pretty boy plotted to use her body like he had used the witch doctor. She had fantasized, had dreamed, had planned to escape—there had always been that chance, that _hope_ that she would find some way out, that she would free herself of this nightmare. She had hoped, she had _wished_ , that everything was just a terrible dream and that she would wake up.

 

Wake up.

 

_Wake up._

 

_Wake up!_

 

… But she was still here.

 

This wasn't an illusion.

 

This wasn't a dream.

 

This was _real_.

 

There was no escape.

 

There was no way out.

 

There was no waking up.

 

There was only sleep.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“Hmm, so that's it then? Rather anticlimactic, to be honest with you.”

 

Pegasus cocked his lips to the side as he held the slip of paper to the torch light.

 

“I was expecting her to _beg_ , at least. It was like stealing a soul from a limp fish. I thought she'd be a more _attractive_ trading card, too. Looks rather _morose_. One feels depressed just staring at it.”

 

“ _A life for a life,_ ” Isis began, index finger tracing the hieratic text in her hands. “Once we begin, Mister Pegasus, you must not lose focus. You must be willing to place your entirety, your will, your _soul_ in the stead of the Gods. You must be willing to stare into the realm beyond and reach for the divine. Do you accept?”

 

“Is there any doubt, Miss Ishtar?” he smirked.

 

“Mister Pegasus,” Isis urged, “I need your confirmation if we are to begin.”

 

“I accept heartily,” he drawled, tossing the trading card into the fire with the flick of his wrist. “Let us begin!”

 

Isis placed the book at Mai's side on the altar, eyes tracing the pages as her hands hovered over the body with her palms facing down. She retained her loathing as Pegasus slid his hands over hers, and their fingers intertwined.

 

There was almost no need to look at the ancient manuscript. Isis had seen it, time and time again, reviewed it _ad nauseum_ in her visions, memorized it to the point that she could recite the words backwards at a moment's notice. The Gods, the Ankh, the Scales, the Rod, her Necklace, his Eye, she could feel the ethereal pulse within all, the lifting of the veil between all worlds, all dimensions, the eternal beat of all that once was and all that would be.

 

 _And_ she heard the Dark Thing's screaming above them.

 

Oh, did the light hurt? Poor thing.

 

She'd worry about that later.

 

Several minutes passed and Pegasus dug his fingers into her knuckles to the point of drawing blood. He was heaving, groaning, sweat dripping from his brow and splashing against the blue dress below.

 

“ _Focus,_ Maximillion Pegasus,” Isis commanded between her chanting, coaxing the light out of his Eye. “Look into the void and search for what you hold dear. Show the Gods what you are willing to sacrifice in their presence, what you are willing to _give_ , what you wish to _take_!”

 

“ _Cecelia_ ,” he moaned, a tear slipping from his eye. “I see her!”

 

“Take her!” Isis urged, the light of their Items consuming the room, Mai's body thrumming with a white, otherworldly fire. “ _Quickly_! The veil is coming down! Reach forth and _seize her_! _Now_!”

 

The chamber shook and the torches flared with a final, explosive cry as Pegasus dragged his nails against the back of Isis' hands, as though being pulled apart by another force, and collapsed on top of Mai's body. He shook like a leaf atop her, whimpering, trembling, panting from the effort, and he groaned as he opened his biological eye.

 

“What...?” he whispered, rubbing his head with a grimace. “Did it work?”

 

Isis pushed a wine glass beside his head with a small smirk.

 

“I think you have reason to celebrate, Mister Pegasus.”

 

“Mmm,” came a moan from Mai's lips.

 

Pegasus' eye went alight like a child who received a puppy on Christmas morning, clasping his hands together with an excited puff.

 

“Cecelia! Cecelia, is that really you?”

 

He reached forward and ran his hands over her face, massaging her eyes open and chortling in delight when he saw a spark of cobalt among the violet.

 

“Ma... Maximillion?” Cecelia whispered. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, and it took her a moment to recognize the silver hair and amber eye.

 

“Yes!” Pegasus giggled, stroking her face and placing his lips over hers, showering her with kisses. “Yes, yes, darling, it's _me_. Welcome back, my angel!”

 

Cecelia's eyes watered, brimmed with tears as her lips trembled against his. Her chest grew, sucking in a heap of air when his mouth left hers, and Isis plugged her ears with her fingers as she stepped away from the couple to retrieve something important.

 

“ _NOOOOOOOOOO!!_ ”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Tears streamed down Cecelia's cheeks and stained the stone altar as she recoiled from his touch.

 

This wasn't right.

 

This wasn't _right_.

 

This _wasn't_ _right_.

 

She was in Hell.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, _no, no, no, no!_ ”

 

“Oh, even with a different voice, I know that shriek anywhere,” Pegasus doted with a hand over his heart, nuzzling her cheek as she thrashed in her chains. “It really is _you_.”

 

“God, God, _no_! Dear, God, _why_?!” Cecelia sobbed, flexing her hands and bending her torso away from the man above her. “What did I do? _What did I do?!_ ”

 

“Oh, my darling angel, always so prone to your hysterical fits,” he murmured in her hair as he cupped her chin. He inhaled and caught a hint of a powdery, floral aroma, not quite like a rose, but not at all unpleasant. What an interesting change. “Not to worry. I kept the labels of _all_ your prescriptions, and many new ones have come into production since your passing. If your prior meds don't work with this body, there's a plethora of options that can help you. I still have the number for your psychiatrist.”

 

“Stop touching me!” she cried, rolling her face away from his hand and kicking in her chains. “Get away from me! I don't want to be here! Let me go! Dear God, please, let me _die_!”

 

“And _that's_ why I kept your psychiatrist on speed dial,” Pegasus cooed, squishing her cheeks between his fingers and placing his lips to her forehead. “Poor dear, you went so far downhill in those final weeks. I've never forgiven myself for letting you out of my sight that weekend.”

 

“ _Stop_ ,” she recoiled from his lips and rolled her head to the side. She squeezed her eyes shut, squirming and sniffling as she grasped at the cuffs on her wrists. “Please, God, no. Not again. _Not_ _again_.”

 

“Don't worry, angel, I won't make the same mistake again,” Pegasus promised as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tears. “I'll make sure you'll be watched 24/7. You'll never be alone so long as I am here to take care of you.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Cecelia rasped, her throat already sore and swollen from crying. “Get away. _Get_ _away_. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be alone with you.”

 

“Oh, my darling Cecelia, you aren't just here with me,” Pegasus reassured. “I want you to meet a dear friend of mine. Why, without her, this wouldn't have been possible! Would you care to introduce yourself to my wife, Miss Ishtar?”

 

The light of his Millennium Eye flickered with a grin as he raised his wine glass in a toast. Though, he would ensure they would have _plenty_ of time to get well acquainted with one another later...

 

“I am pleased you could make it to the party, Mrs. Pegasus. Your presence is most appreciated.”

 

Pegasus furrowed his brow with a wry smirk, his shoulders arching with a scoff as he turned his head.

 

“Odd choice of words, Miss Ishtar. Just what—”

 

Even in the midst of being brought back from the grave, an unbelievable and awful realization unto itself, Cecelia never would have guessed she'd witness what happened then.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

This was it.

 

This was _it_.

 

As the triumphant shout echoed in her head, Isis Ishtar recalled the first time she saw the realm within the Millennium Necklace. It was a floating cosmos in itself: stars, dust, and darkness suspended in an endless web of strings, and its center, a seamstress of green skin wearing a red crown. Isis did not understand how or why, and she could not see but _felt_ the woman smiling under her dark veil, and she took a moment to glance up from her loom to point above where Isis stood.

 

So Isis looked.

 

A name such as The Terrifying One looks impressive in many languages, and it may sound as such in many tongues, but Isis had the recognition to acknowledge that “The Terrifying One” does not, at first, sound so terrifying in the language of whence the title originated. The proper pronunciation of The Terrifying One, _Neith_ , is spoken through one's teeth and said like a thought had come to surface and was forgotten the millisecond it had begun to reach one's ears.

 

 _Nrt_.

 

For The Terrifying One was there before all else and created all thereafter, she who gave life as her aspect of the sky and she who took it away as she surged down the war path, and she had not the mind nor the interest to entertain the opinions of those who showed no fondness for their place on her tapestry. The Terrifying One did not tolerate the wailing of men on the battlefield in their final moments, nor did she savor the shrieks of mothers as their babes were torn from their arms.

 

 _Nrt_.

 

Her name was not the howls of horror or the cries of fear, not the screeching of the damned or the bellows of the mad. It was the sound of a sudden death, the sound that starts in the chest and halts in the throat, the sound of the moment one stared into the face of death but had not yet processed their doom, the sound of pure terror.

 

 _Nrt_.

 

It was the final sound that had leaked through Mai Valentine's lips, and it had been the same sound that had escaped through Isis' fingers when they clamped over her mouth and saw what The Terrifying One had trapped in her web: the broken wings, the mangled limbs, the bloodied horns, the shattered disc, the cracked ankh. All the miracles of The Brilliant One herself could not bring her entirety back from such mutilation.

 

Magic meant nothing to Fate.

 

Yet, when Isis felt the cold hand on her shoulder, when she was encouraged to look beyond the corpse of her namesake and inspect the bloodied threads, she found that The Terrifying One was giving her something more powerful than magic or hope.

 

 _Certainty_.

 

She had thrown herself at the feet of The Terrifying One and begged—Oh, how she had begged! Another way, another method, another _plan_ that wouldn't subject her to the sickness of the man in red. She could endure all else, just anything but _him_.

 

But The Creator did not concede or bend to her crying, for it had all been decided from the very beginning, from the time before time, from when there was only mind with no matter. To make her understand, to help her see the path, to cease her incessant _whining_ , The Terrifying One placed a hand to her lips and lifted her veil.

 

A lesser person would have gone mad.

 

Or, perhaps, Isis did go mad in the realm of endless threads, but The Terrifying One made it so she could function thereafter in the realm of waking.

 

There was no question, no doubt, no _uncertainty_. Before her eyes, she had seen all that had been and all that will ever be: the ultimate consciousness that gazed into the mirror, the cosmic mist that brought forth life, the intertwining of the rays, the alignment of the astral aspects, the detail of each individual strand that was woven and crossed and cut, the thought and influence of the carefully crafted web. Past, Present, and Future were not divided, but constant, braided, unchangeable, one and the same. The origins of all thought, all desire, all motivation and reason existed before any lifetime, experiences prepared for eternity.

 

So it was, The Terrifying One had already decided she would suffer under the hands of the man in red—for a time.

 

Isis Ishtar could have written a book on the ways she dreamed of killing Maximillion Pegasus.

 

A gun was a simple answer, but a bullet would have been too quick, too _good_ for him. Yet the thought of seeing brain matter splatter and stain the priceless dalbergia headboard in his boudoir had always clinged to her mind whenever she caught of a glimpse of the polished metal adorning the waist of his guards. Yet the guns were always protected with the most scrutinizing security, hidden away or kept just out of her reach, and the fantasies of a bloody hole in the head were just that.

 

The thought of a knife was also a comfort that ebbed through her deepest dreams. How often she would lick her lips as she watched him sip his wine at the dinner table and contemplate the blade in her right hand. How often she imagined the scarlet in the glass passing through his lips and spurting out of his neck with a slash before she turned her attention below the waist. Alas, they had always been seated at either ends of the vast table, and she was a vegetarian. It was not often she needed a knife for her meals, and whatever she received for tougher morsels was far too dull for flesh. The sharpest blades were kept in the kitchen and locked away from everyone else; even she knew it was unwise to attempt stealing a knife from a chef.

 

There was also the complicated matter of the Rod. She knew of its hidden “feature”, but alignment was everything. If she moved it from the wall now, then the Eye would—

 

Well, she didn't need to worry about that.

 

She had wondered to the tone of Pegasus' screams as he gripped his shattered kneecaps, his breath coming out in staggered wheezes as she sent his ribs into his lungs with each downward swing of a metal pipe, a bat, or a baton—whatever occupied her reveries that night. Yet Pegasus was not an athlete by any means, everything in the castle was up to spec, and his guards didn't carry sticks.

 

She imagined how his proportions would be divided if placed on a table, the lanky measurements of his forearms and biceps compared to his calves and thighs, his torso and neck alongside his head and feet. Sadly, chainsaws, hacksaws, jigsaws, or any saw was eliminated from the equation. Pegasus' architects were in Sweden, his construction crews from Japan, his favorite handyman on call along the California coast, and his own abilities as a craftsman were a prominent zero. Even something as small as a screwdriver (how she would have _loved_ to make one disappear in his head) wasn't feasible.

 

She enjoyed imagining Pegasus staggering through the woods, clothes torn and barefoot, as he had done to her during the first orgy when he dressed her in that wretched outfit with the deer skull and tassels. She imagined him slipping on a rock by a river and the dogs or lions or leopards would descend and hollow out his torso, tearing out his entrails while he clawed helplessly at their heads before they crushed his hands in their jaws. But Pegasus had no affinity for keeping such pets (that's why he made all those costumes, the miserable letch), so that was another vision dashed.

 

It would have been satisfying to see him choke while foam flowed from his mouth, clutching at his throat as he fell over after dining on his usual serving of Gorgonzola Piccante, yet even poison was out of reach. He knew of everything flowing in and out of the island, and whatever was in the cupboards under the sink had been kept under locks as well.

 

There was always the daily fantasy of strangling him in his slumber, but even the ropes were kept elsewhere, and she knew very well of his personal preferences. She found no fondness in arousing him with his demise.

 

As it was, Isis Ishtar did not have access to a gun, a knife, a baton, a lion, a pack of dogs, poison, or a rope, but there had always been a weapon in every room.

 

The past was present was future. None were separate and all were one.

 

Everything happened for a reason.

 

When the accomplished _Visconte_ Angelo Gioele Luca Giuseppe de Montay had his castle built in Casale Monferrato in 14 th century Italy, he had very little time to enjoy it. For not long after its completion, the young _Vi_ _sconte_ met his untimely end on the prongs of a farmer's pitchfork when he was making his usual rounds collecting taxes in the surrounding province, and he died in obscurity. The castle switched many hands over the centuries, but ultimately languished in the last 300 years with little interest to preserve its foundation, its walls, its halls, and its lost history. As Fate would have it, however, Maximillion Pegasus had taken quite a fancy to the castle when a luxury realtor put it up for sale, and he purchased it as a birthday gift to himself. He then had the castle disassembled and reassembled on his private island, stone by stone, updated the interior, and added the dungeons beneath. As a result of its altered design, Pegasus' castle was reconstructed to adhere to modern fire codes, and it was ensured the castle's integrity would excel in taking all the proper precautions if such an event were to occur.

 

So it was, Isis Ishtar took immense satisfaction at the resounding crack that reverberated throughout the ceremonial chamber as she smashed Maximillion Pegasus' face with a fire extinguisher.

 

The shattering of the wine glass synced perfectly with his surprised yelp as he collapsed in a heap on the floor. _Weird_ _Science_ ended, but Pegasus' play list stayed on the same band as the next song in the queue began, and Isis couldn't retain her smile when the following tune reached her ears.

 

 _[Dead Man's Party](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McqlDCGXaUw),_ indeed.

 

“Aaarrgh, you _ungrateful_ _whore!_ ”

 

Pegasus clutched at his face as blood flowed down his contorted features and through his hands, dripping to the ground and blending with the spilled wine and broken glass beside him. He kicked and scrabbled in the first throws of agony, the fire starting in his forehead and pulsing through his nerves as he huddled in a ball.

 

“ _This_ is how you repay me? After _everything_ I've done for you! I'll punish you severely for this, you treacherous bitch!”

 

The Millennium Eye glowed as his lips turned in a snarl, lifting his head from the ground to stare up and focus on the Necklace. How _dare_ she. If she thought she had it rough before, once he was done with her—

 

“Now, now, Mister Pegasus, there's no need for that.”

 

The light of his Eye sputtered and died as her Necklace glowed, and he cried out again as her foot stomped on his ear and kept his head pinned to the floor.

 

“The ritual has exhausted you terribly, Mister Pegasus. To continue with anything further would be an exercise in foolishness,” she hummed as she ground her heel into his face. “I think you need to go to sleep.”

 

“Y-you lying bitch... You deceived me...” he said weakly, hands shaking as he dug his fingers into her ankle with little result. Her foot crushed his cheek into his molars, the pressure in his head building from the force of her applying the weight of her leg on his skull.

 

“I did no such thing, Mister Pegasus.”

 

“Agh!” he yapped when she lifted her foot and brought it back down on his vagus nerve.

 

“I _promised_ to bring your dearly beloved back, and I did.”

 

Isis balanced herself on one leg and folded the one with which she had curb stomped his jaw, dropping her full weight into her knee and settling it into his ribs.

 

“AGH!”

 

“I _warned_ you that the ritual would cause you some fatigue, and it has.”

 

She placed the fire extinguisher aside and straddled his torso.

 

“I even had the courtesy of telling you ahead of time that you would suffer a _headache_ , and that, too, has occurred.”

 

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted up, savoring his grimace before she slammed the back of his head into the ground.

 

“You _used_ me,” Pegasus groaned, biological eye twitching with the pangs surging through his head, grabbing weakly at her wrist. “You _whore_.”

 

“As have you, _motherfucker_ ,” she retorted, “but we're nowhere near even.”

 

In addition to the security, the restrictions, and the limitations on the island, what had ultimately kept Isis under his heel had been the terrible matter of his Item. She could have had her finger hovering above the button for a nuke, but it would have done her no good as long as Pegasus had control over the Millennium Eye.

 

 _Had_.

 

She smirked.

 

“I thank you graciously, Cecelia,” Isis murmured without looking at the woman on the slab. “This wouldn't have been possible without you. You must indeed be an incredible woman for a worm such as this to drive himself to the point of death to bring you back.”

 

“Wh-what?” Cecelia stuttered. “What are you going to do to him?”

 

“You'll see,” Isis said to her simply. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at Pegasus. “ _You_ won't.”

 

“You _fucking_ two-faced— _Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!_ ”

 

Pegasus' scream melted with the snappy guitar riffs and upbeat drum beats echoing in the chamber as Isis twisted a hand in his hair and pulled at the Millennium Eye. He writhed between her thighs and kicked at the stonework beneath them, clutching desperately at her arm to stop the searing pins and needles twirling around his socket and leaking into the deepest parts of his mind. A flurry of purple and red shadows surged forth from the Eye and flooded her face, and she sneered into the onslaught.

 

“That won't work on me,” she declared, and the shadows screeched along with Pegasus as the light of the Necklace consumed them.

 

“I... I won't... Let you get away...” Pegasus grunted, sinking his nails into her wrist.

 

“I would say I admire your fighting spirit, Mister Pegasus,” Isis hissed, recalling something he had said to her long ago, “but then that would make a liar of me.”

 

The shadows continued to swirl around her face, searching for and trying to pry their way into every orifice before being peeled away and rebuffed by the golden fire of the Necklace. Pegasus continued to cry out and thrash beneath her, the Eye coming out centimeter by agonizing centimeter, pink membrane tearing and red veins rupturing with each tug. Isis grumbled in frustration at the resistance.

 

The Eye was refusing to part with its host, or rather, it could have been the other way around. It seemed Pegasus wasn't quite as weak as she had surmised.

 

How annoying.

 

“Let go of it, you bastard!”

 

She moved the hand that was in his hair to his cheek and jabbed her thumb into his biological eye, her nail starting at the corner by the bridge of his nose and scraping until she felt her digit penetrate the sclera and settle into the squishy vitreous fluid beneath. All the fire within the Millennium Necklace shot out and whirled around the Millennium Eye, rotating like a drill, searing the surrounding tissue and scorching whatever lied beneath. Cecelia's ears rang as Pegasus' wail bounced off the walls and drowned out the warbles of Danny Elfman over the catchy trumpet tones, mixing with Isis' victorious shout as she whipped her head back with the final wave of shadows as she tore out the Millennium Eye.

 

Pegasus' hands dropped away from her wrist with an exanimate thud against the floor, one hand splishing in the puddle of wine while the other landed with a flat thump on the dry ground at the opposite side of his waist. The darkness clinging to Isis' head dissipated around her eyes, purple overtaken by gold and sealed with a brief, amber glow before it all gave way to cold sapphire.

 

Cecelia wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or laugh.

 

“He's... He's dead...” she whispered.

 

“Not quite,” Isis sighed agitatedly, flicking little pieces of mucous membrane off the Millennium Eye with a fingernail. The body of Pegasus groaned weakly in response, fingers twitching with the observation. The Eye may have taken his spirit, but his brain was still intact.

 

Isis let the Millennium Eye drop with a dense, lifeless bounce to the side. She would get back to it later.

 

She shook her head as she observed the damaged sockets, blood leaking in small, bright red streams from where she had originally struck him at his temple. She took another deep breath as she picked up the fire extinguisher that had been waiting patiently beside them during the short struggle, gripping the top end and mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

 

She didn't want it to end this way.

 

She dreamed, she _hoped_ it wouldn't come to this. She had seen it, time and time again, after every violation and desecration Pegasus forced upon her, the vision that both disgusted and comforted her to her slumber. She wished there could have been another way, but this was Fate's plan, Fate's design, and as a servant of The Terrifying One, Isis would adhere to the path that was set before her. It was destined.

 

This was how Maximillion Pegasus had to die.

 

Isis scowled, and she found herself yearning, relenting on the cruelty of Fate. She wasn't concerned about the flailing limbs or the intermittent screams, the nails scratching at her thighs or the inevitable soreness from the repeated lifting of the metal object. He _deserved_ all of it, and she was more than willing to deliver his punishment.

 

Still, Isis couldn't help but feel a little upset as she raised the fire extinguisher over head.

 

It was just... just...

 

Just going to be so _messy_!

 

Cecelia whimpered and closed her eyes, turning her head away as she felt blood splatter in her hair with every crack as Isis brought the edge of the fire extinguisher down on his skull. It didn't give in so easily with the first handful of blows, only breaking the skin and revealing the bone beneath. The flesh at the forehead had bunched together with each strike, peeling away as blood burst forth and poured freely from the open wound, coating his face and soaking his hair. Isis ignored the discomfort of the sticky red puddle growing around her legs and his hands still grasping at her person while groans and whines escaped through his lips. She changed her angle, trapping his head between her knees as she jammed the extinguisher once, twice, three times in the center of his skull until the fused pieces there came undone. With the structure compromised, Isis turned her attention back to the face, bashing the extinguisher like a mortar in a pestle as his features caved into the concave bowl of the crown.

 

His screams had subsided, but his body continued to twitch and flop underneath her. Sizable chunks started to flake off with each hit, silver strands pulling away and sticking to the rounded bottom of the extinguisher, an appearance of scarlet stained spider webs floating and falling off in oblong arcs with every other strike, pieces of scalp and skull splashing in the puddle below. The metallic rush of blood seeped into the corners of her mouth as it splattered across her face and landed on her snarling teeth, memories flashing before her eyes.

 

Pegasus had taken so much from her: her chastity, her family, her virtue, her _self._ Within a day of landing on the island, he had stripped her of her clothes and burned all but one of her favored articles, dressing her like he would a doll and toying with her in his endless games. The only reason he had allowed Isis to keep her current attire was because she had told him that the trappings were ceremonial garb, necessary for the ritual, which was not wholly a lie as she had seen herself wearing it in her visions. Yet she had a small comfort in the past year when she had run her hands over the white Egyptian cotton, the polished bands of gold, the Eye of Wdjat on the headdress, taking solace in that she still had _something_ she could call her own.

 

Which made it all the more agonizing when she brought the fire extinguisher down on his head. With every blow, every deformation, every crack and crunch, there was a colorful splatter that hurled forward and stained her _favorite_ _dress_ , and her tears mixed with the blood on her face as the force behind her strikes multiplied tenfold.

 

Even in death, this bastard had to ruin the last piece of clothing she owned.

 

“ _Ya_ _i_ _bn el_ _s_ _harmouta,_ ” Isis growled.

 

The world blurred as she wept, only seeing the red between her legs, only feeling the weight in her hands and the burn of lactic acid in her arms, only hearing the metal whacks and fleshy thumps as she pummeled the remains of Pegasus' face into the ground, the haunting vocals and cheery instrumentals of Oingo Boingo fading in and out. Isis wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally registered the orange glow to the edges of her vision turning to black, hieroglyphs and stonework ravaged by shadows, a signal that the torch light was on its last legs. Her panting filled the dim chamber, her dress completely soaked through and sticking to her skin. The fire extinguisher struck the ground with a clang as her hand went limp, scarlet droplets running down her chin and fingertips as her chest slowly rose and sank with every breath.

 

Isis tilted her head and cocked her jaw as she looked— _really_ looked—at what was resting between her knees. Laying in a pile of matted silver tresses was what appeared to be a gushy mess of raspberry preserves with intermittent mints strewn throughout, and Isis blinked leadenly when she realized the little white bits were loose teeth. A stray pink tongue lolled out of an intact mandible, and she arched her brows as a small chuckle left her lips.

 

All the magic in the world couldn't fix that.

 

With a temporary sway, Isis got to her feet and stretched, linking her hands above her head. Her knuckles and back popped with the motion, and she sighed in satisfaction.

 

“That's finally done,” she muttered lazily as she leaned over to pick up the Eye. She wiped it against the hem of the corpse's cloak to clean the gold and cradled it in her palm. She stepped over Pegasus' body and around the altar, taking out a leather suitcase and opening it with two clicks. She first collected the Egyptian Gods, then the Ankh, Scales, and Rod from their places on the wall, putting them back into the appropriate sized slots in the case's red velvet lining. When everything was secured, she picked the leather bound codex off the corner of the altar and tucked it in the crook of her elbow.

 

“W-wait,” Cecelia finally spoke up, watching Isis roll the Eye between her fingers as she walked away with the suitcase and book in hand. “Where are you going?”

 

“I need to retrieve one more thing,” Isis said flatly, “and then I'm leaving.”

 

“What about me?” Cecelia asked timidly, and she tried not to stare at the blood adorning the Egyptian woman's features like a grotesque war paint.

 

“What about you?” Isis asked. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stopped just before the exit to the chamber, glancing over her shoulder.

 

“Aren't you going to unlock me?” she gestured to the chains around her wrists.

 

Isis closed her eyes and rotated her head towards the steps.

 

“That is of little concern to me.”

 

She had other things to get to.

 

Cecelia's teeth clicked in shock before she opened her mouth to reply, to _beg_ , but Isis gave her a departing clue before she ascended the stairs.

 

“Look down and figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, just... Dang...
> 
> Sorry I missed the Sunday deadline by an hour! My wedding anniversary trip was a little longer than I had surmised (and I had a lot of fun), but hey, better late than never. :/
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I realized upon my review that the tone of the latter half disrupted the first in a bad way (that wasn't good), so I divided it up and now we have an extra chapter I can save for Halloween night. Yay! Say it with me! Hip-hip—
> 
> Whyyyy?


	4. I V

_Je veux ton amour_  
_Et je veux ta revanche_  
_Je veux ton amour_  
_I don't want to be friends_

Bad Romance, _Lady Gaga_

 

**I V**

 

One more thing.

 

One more Thing, and she could leave.

 

There was a small sway in her hips as she ascended the stairs, and her head moved in sync with the fading music. She didn't know if it was a single album or if Pegasus just had an affinity for that particular band when he made the playlist, but she had to admit, the tunes were quite catchy. The suitcase was the weight of a feather in her grip, and the thick, leather bound manuscript was tucked soundly under her other arm while she traced the Millennium Eye with her thumb, smiling as she found herself humming along with the song.

 

[No one lives forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZwP7Z9pyNo), hm?

 

Isis wondered if the Dark Thing could hear it in its cell or if the space had been soundproofed. She would find out soon enough.

 

The pupil of the Millennium Necklace sparkled with her own eyes, a confident stride to her step as she reached the top of the stairs and bounded as quickly as she could down the hall without running.

 

Heart pounding.

 

Eyes glimmering.

 

Fingers trembling.

 

Knees light, feet pacing, a near-sprint.

 

Just one more thing.

 

The big Thing.

 

Yet there were _little things_ she wanted to take care of before that.

 

She was so close, she could feel it in her _teeth_.

 

Isis licked her lips, unbothered by the metallic taste as she left a trail of scarlet drops and bloody footprints on the iridescent white floor. The pale hieroglyphs and marble bars that had decorated Mai's hall passed by in her peripheral view. She maintained her rapid pace, cornering left, right, left, left, right, down that hall, up more stairs, and the white stone etchings transitioned into rough, mossy gray blocks lined with torches.

 

Then she turned her last corner, and she had arrived.

 

It was not a remarkable door in the slightest. There was a bright, spasming reflection from the torches framing the entrance, a solid sheet of platinum with a single card scanner at chest height. She was never given the appropriate access to the room, but it wasn't an obstacle now. She set the suitcase on the ground and leaned it against the wall; none of the contents would be needed for what she had planned. She would not pester the aspects of Ra-Horakhty for this task, the Ankh and Scales had never spoken to her, and the Rod still pined for its owner.

 

A momentary thought crossed her mind, to open the suitcase and place the Eye inside it for the time being, force the velvet within to conform to the new shape for storage, but a warmth buzzed into her palm. Light within the pupil pulsed with the beat of her heart while the Necklace throbbed in tandem, and Isis arched a brow in mild amusement.

 

It seemed to accept her. Interesting.

 

Very well, then. If it wished to accompany her, she would not deny the experience. Fate was constant, concrete, but Magic was a fickle thing and seldom courted so easily. It would be foolish to rebuff the extra assistance.

 

A thin beamed shot out from the Necklace and illuminated the card reader. With a whirr and a beep, the door parted before her, and she strode into the dark corridor. She nestled the stitched leather tome in her left arm and placed her other hand against the wall, streaks left by her touch as she came to the other end of the narrow entryway. The guards chattered and muttered amongst themselves in the security wing, some engaged in idle conversation while others were fiddling with the fuzzy, flickering monitors.

 

“Someone get up and investigate already,” she heard someone bark. “The cameras have been out for ten minutes now!”

 

“B-but the ritual... the instructions, o-our orders... We aren't supposed leave this room until—”

 

“I don't give a _shit_ what his squeeze said. The cameras are fucked and I don't like it. Besides, that 'don't deviate from her instructions' crap was just a bone boss man threw her to make her feel better.”

 

“'Squeeze'? Why, Kemo, are you still sore from that night?” Isis interrupted with feigned worry. “I thought we had something special.”

 

All of Pegasus' security personnel gasped as she emerged from the corridor, Millennium Necklace aglow while the Eye quivered in her fingers, making a small rattling sound against the spine of the book, as though eagerly telling her to open it. Save for the bright, peppery static across the monitors, the rest of the room was atrociously dim, forcing one to strain the limitations of their vision, and it took a second for everyone to realize the red of her dress and headpiece were not a result of fabric dye, nor was the scarlet splattered across her face and arms.

 

 

 

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!” growled Kemo. He and the other guards went to draw their pistols, but the action wasn't completed. With a blinding yellow flash, everyone groaned and winced, limbs stiffening and nerves going cold, bones turning to lead and weapons clattering to the floor.

 

“What... did you do... to Pegasus...” Kemo managed to grunt, eyes twitching as he observed a pearly white grin slash across the red stains on her face.

 

“Mister Pegasus has become... indisposed,” Isis intoned. She parted the book with a fluid, practiced nudge of her bicep and rested the spine against her forearm, pinching the top with her middle, ring, and pinkie fingers while she encircled the Millennium Eye with her thumb and forefinger.

 

“In light of this tragic event, allow me to reconstruct the chain of command, gentlemen.”

 

She flipped through the pages with her other hand, mulling over her options. Isis already knew what she would choose, but that didn't mean she couldn't entertain the other elaborate entries. Who else aside from she could appreciate all the intricacies of the elusive treasure in her hand?

 

“Ah, here it is,” Isis tittered, tapping the desired words. “I think this should establish our pecking order quite proficiently.”

 

The Necklace and Eye pulsed with every breath and inflection as she read, a golden glow crossing her own pupils with the chanting. The guards were still as statues, glued to where they stood and staring desperately at the fallen firearms at their feet, and the corners of Isis' lips twitched upward with the observation.

 

They weren't going to be stiff for long.

 

The static of the monitors flickered and waved before turning black, crackles and hisses heard beneath the screens until sparks erupted and sent shards flying. A noxious, burnt scent wafted through the room and smoke swirled around the guards as the volume of her incantations rose, each word spoken with the purpose of an iron brand upon a hide. The room vibrated in a manner more like that of a tuning fork than an earthquake, and an unnerving yellow luster coated the walls.

 

Then, silence.

 

Stillness.

 

Calm.

 

The golden aura remained, but the smoke settled at the men's feet, churning and rolling like a mist in a bog. Small wisps curled at their pant legs, stroking and caressing with tiny, shy whispers in a language none but Isis could understand. Her finger had stopped over the final script, mouth parted as eyes, Eye, and Necklace glimmered in anticipation, and she savored the sweat dripping off their faces, relished at their spasming eyelids—oh, and it seemed Kemo was crying.

 

Excellent.

 

Isis licked the lining of her cheek. With the utterance of the last word, the book shut with an emphatic “snap!” and she clicked her teeth with a loud bite.

 

The small wisps of smoke were no longer small, no longer wisps, and certainly no longer smoke.

 

She had seen them in her visions, so none of it came as a surprise. Yet in person, Isis still found herself mesmerized by the variety that had been summoned.

 

Some of them reminded her of what would be found on an octopus with suckers along the length, while others were more like the tendrils of a sea anemone with fuzz at the edges. Some were like the delicate strands of the stingers on a jellyfish, while others started thin at their base and sported fluted openings like sea worms. Some seemed to have a pretty fluorescent glow, swapping between brilliant hues of green and white and purple, while others were black as ink and more akin to the clumps of hair one would find in a shower drain. Some were wiry and thorny like the stem of a rose, while others were dry and cork-like, resembling the rough, barky limbs of a tree. Some looked slick and slimy with bulbous protrusions at the ends, while others looked to have the texture of sandpaper with stipples and forked prongs. Some appeared more insect-like with a hard exoskeleton and small hairs dotting the surface, while others were transparent and wriggled wildly like nematodes.

 

It was an astonishing mass of slithering limbs, coiling and uncoiling, furling and unfurling, and while their physical features varied, she knew they only had one thing in mind.

 

Isis smiled as she added up the tally marks in her head, and she quickly lost track of the violations.

 

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Where there had once been a limp in Isis' stride, there was a small bounce, a giddy little skip as she replayed the recent events in her head and the suitcase swang back and forth. She was certain all the guards would have been screaming had the appendages not been so enthusiastic to crowd their mouths, amongst other things.

 

She had observed the show for a time until she grew bored and reminded herself of her duty. Isis hadn't bothered to ask the Necklace how long the licentious bundle would go on, and by the time she left and locked the door behind her, the bodies weren't holding up very well.

 

She was backtracking to the Dark Thing, stalking through the organized stonework maze that would eventually lead to its cell, but there was one more _little thing_ she had to take care of before she got to that.

 

“ _Croquet~_ ” she uttered in a sing-song voice. She palmed the Eye with her left hand as she kept the book cinched under her right arm, the leathery handle on the suitcase dangling loosely from her fingertips. “You can't hide from me. Come out... or I'll force you out.”

 

“A thousand pardons, Miss Ishtar,” he emerged behind her with a revolver pointed at her head. “While I cannot begin to imagine the trauma Master Pegasus has caused you, and I am sure he deserved the fate you resigned him to, what the both of you did to Miss Valentine is reprehensible. I have a personal code to uphold, and I will not allow you to escape.”

 

“Do you really plan on shooting me, Croquet?” Isis asked, raising her hands beside her head and glancing at him over her shoulder. “I was a victim of his twisted affections, as was Miss Valentine. Do you not remember his games? Need I bring up the gum you lent me out of pity the other day?”

 

“I do apologize for that, as it was not my intent to play a part in his scheme, but your personal agony does not excuse you for exercising cruelty on another,” Croquet lectured. His index finger trembled around the trigger, an unbearable itch. He didn't know everything about the terrible magic behind Pegasus' Eye or her Necklace, but he had enough faith in the distance between the back of her head and the barrel of his gun.

 

“I never took you to have a white knight complex, Croquet,” Isis crooned. “It must be nice to think yourself a hero when much of your legacy is marked by inaction.”

 

“We don't all have access to black magic, Miss Ishtar.”

 

“But you always had access to that gun in your hand,” she said pointedly. “Your fears and hesitations of our powers suppressed your righteousness. At any time, you could have easily put an end to Pegasus' atrocities or my instructions in the matter of a second, but you instead chose to stand on the sidelines and criticized our actions in silence while you watched everything unfold. You share just as much cause in Miss Valentine's anguish as the two of us.”

 

“I will right those wrongs today,” Croquet proclaimed, inching the barrel forward until it was a hand's reach from her head.

 

Isis smirked and began to turn around.

 

“Stay where you are!” he shouted, shaking the revolver with the order.

 

“Now, Croquet, you're about to kill a woman. At least have the decency to look me in the eye when you pull the trigger.”

 

“I said _don't move_!”

 

Isis disobeyed the command and rotated on her heel, keeping her hands beside her head as she did so. She leaned into the barrel with a smug smile, firmly pressing her forehead against the unfriendly end of the firearm.

 

“Will you look at that? I moved,” she quipped. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

She pushed her head further into the weapon and maintained the pressure there, and Croquet couldn't form a response as his index finger froze.

 

“Come now, hero, this is your big moment,” Isis taunted. “Kill the witch.”

 

Croquet tried to speak, tried to squeeze his finger, tried to take a step back, but it was as though everything in his body had disconnected from his mind. Nothing was responding.

 

“And he thinks 'Maybe I should have shot her before she called me out',” Isis narrated with the tilt of her head. “But then he wonders, 'Did she know where I was the whole time? Would I still have been able to shoot her then, or would she have foiled my attempt?' Tricky, tricky questions, Croquet.”

 

She moved away from the gun and circled him like a jackal would a wounded rodent. Several lights smoldered on her person, at her neck, her hand, her eyes.

 

“Miss Valentine's death was painless, if it comforts you any,” Isis began. “Transferring one's soul to a trading card is not so gruesome. Though, I suppose I cannot account for what a soul feels when it perishes in flame. I have never come across anything regarding the matter in my readings.”

 

Croquet kept shouting at himself internally.

 

 _Move_.

 

 _Move_!

 

 _MOVE_!

 

“Mister Pegasus' death was not so clean,” Isis continued, “as you may observe from my state of dress.”

 

After completing her short circle, she stood in front of him and stared down the barrel once more.

 

“Would you like to know what I did to the other guards?” she asked. “Or should I show you, too?”

 

The only thing that moved on Croquet's person was a bead of sweat on his cheek. She regarded him coolly, looking him up and down as she mulled over her memories, and she hummed when she made her decision.

 

“Oh, Croquet, you don't need to be so nervous. I shan’t devise such an agonizing fate for you,” Isis cooed. “You never intervened on my behalf, this is true, but I must give credit where credit is due. You never _violated_ me like the others either.”

 

For a moment, Croquet felt relieved as his arm regained some slack and bent at the elbow, but his breath hitched when he registered the cold barrel pressing against the back of his mouth as his finger settled around the trigger.

 

Isis smirked as she held the Millennium Eye in between a “V” beside her head.

 

“For you, I'll make it quick.”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

There was a tinge of disappointment in that no music could be heard from below, and their voices carried a small echo in the brightly lit space.

 

“You're _drunk_ , sister.”

 

“This is not so, Dark Thing. I have not had a drop of wine all day.”

 

“Stop acting like you're clever,” the Dark Thing heaved, glaring at her over its shoulder. It was drenched in a cold sweat, tan skin shining under the fluorescent lights of the white-tiled cell as its hair stuck to its neck and forehead. Its back was still exposed to her, hands raised towards the ceiling with the tension of the anchored chains holding him up, but the rest of the body was slack from exhaustion.

 

“I'm wise to your little stint downstairs, sister. You drained me _and_ Pegasus so you could strengthen your own Item. You're riding on the wave of our essence, and it's made you go cross-eyed,” it gnarled.

 

“My vision has always been clear, Dark Thing,” Isis declared airily. “The only thing that taints my view as of now is your petulant existence.”

 

She set the Eye, book, and suitcase down on the floor before she unlocked the case and removed the Millennium Rod. The light in the pupil of the golden staff stuttered weakly while the Necklace thrummed against her neck, and the Dark Thing clenched its teeth.

 

“What do you think you're doing with that?”

 

“Worry not, Dark Thing. Even with all I have done, it still rejects me. The intrinsic power of the Rod is not mine to command,” Isis said evenly with closed eyes. Her hands curled around the handle, and she ignored the weak jolts surging through the gold.

 

“Though it still responds to your presence, you can't do anything with it as you are.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Its eyes twitched with the words, craning its neck to focus on her bloody fingers on its Item.

 

“Precisely what I am destined to do.”

 

She focused on his back, a semblance of a smile crossing her lips before they settled into a flat line. She stroked the handle of the Rod as her eyes went alight with the Necklace's pulse, staring at the path before her.

 

“I am going to open this cell and _kill_ _you_. Then I am going to go upstairs and properly dispose of the kitchen and wait staff. Afterward, I am going to take a hot shower, get dressed in something that does not reek of debauchery, raid Pegasus' safe, and sail away from this island for the Nameless Pharaoh, who is alive and well Japan. I will present to him the Gods and the collected Items, and when he is ready, I will take him to Egypt and guide him to the sacred tablet. Thereafter, I will leave him to seek out his memories and he will do battle with the current host of the darkness that resides within the final Item, the Millennium Ring—quite convenient as they are already 'friends'. The Pharaoh will defeat the Ring's darkness in a convoluted game, recover his name, duel with his former host in ceremonial combat, and ascend to the Afterlife. With the mission of the Ishtar family completed, I will seal the tombs and retire to live the rest of my days in a humble beach house next to the Red Sea.”

 

She spread her arms with palms facing outward, a small shrug to the motion.

 

“The end.”

 

“You're going to _kill_ _me_?!” it screamed. Everything else had drowned out of its ears after the first sentence. “I am the _natural born_ _son!_ I am the one who was chosen to endure the blood ritual and lead the clan out of our servitude in darkness!”

 

“ _Malik_ was the first born son; _you_ are a brain tumor,” Isis pointed with the tip of the Rod. She covered her mouth with a sudden laugh, shaking her head at the thought.

 

“Malik was the _not_ the chosen successor,” Isis sneered. “He may have been destined to bear the Pharaoh's Memories, but he was _never_ going to lead our family out of that pit in Egypt. For _ten_ _years_ , he preened and wallowed in the praise of our father, all while _I_ was ignored and watched him damn the very ritual that made his wretched life meaningful. Malik festered in the shadows and resented his duty. Malik cursed our family's mission and spat upon thousands of years of our ancestors' commitment with his betrayal.

 

“Malik plotted to destroy the Nameless Pharaoh, and the clan would have followed him into the depths of chaos had he _survived_. Had he succeeded in his deluded pursuit, the only thing his legacy would have brought upon our family was more _darkness_!”

 

Isis shook not with rage, but conviction, raising a clenched fist before her face as she lowered the Rod to her side, and her eyes glowed in tandem with the aura of the Millennium Necklace.

 

“It was _never_ Malik's fate to save our family. It is _my_ suffering, _my_ struggles that will end the mission of the Tomb Keepers. _I_ am the first born Ishtar; _I_ am the one who knows the ancient rites by heart; _I_ am the one who remains loyal to the Nameless Pharaoh; _I_ am the one who walks freely in the light of the world, and I am the one who is destined to lead our family into that light!”

 

The Dark Thing screamed as a golden burst flared from the Necklace and wafted over its skin, the sensation of coals raked over flesh. Isis traced the wings on the Millennium Rod while she eyed the scars on the Dark Thing's back.

 

“... I do miss Rishid, though,” she hummed, flicking a finger against the head of the Rod. “Despite all his enabling tendencies.”

 

“ _You_ are ultimately responsible for Rishid's misery,” it panted. “You didn't have to help him change his bandages after we ran away after that mess, and your fucking about with Pegasus got him killed.”

 

“And without his passing, _you_ wouldn't have surfaced again,” Isis replied. “Without _me_ , you would still be a nagging voice at the back of Malik's mind. If I cared at all to hear your gratitude, I would say a 'thank you' is in order.”

 

The Necklace unlocked the door with a click, and the Dark Thing recoiled in its bonds.

 

“Though, I would be a hideous liar if I said I am not looking forward to hearing you _scream_.”

 

She smiled when she heard the Dark Thing inhale and scraped the floor with its knees.

 

“... Something else went on in that chamber,” it hissed, and it looked beyond and behind her, lavender pinpoints settling on the possessions she placed on the ground before the cell entrance. “Strange you speak so much about walking on a path of light when you broke the chains on the prohibited archives. Even I'm aware no good comes of playing around with that book. _Kitab al-Azif_ rots the soul, sister.”

 

“You would know all about that, wouldn't you?” Isis replied sharply. She gripped a bar on the cell door and gave it a firm tug, letting it roll into the wall and halt with a clang. The Dark Thing's lips trembled as she advanced with the Millennium Rod in hand.

 

“No more,” she whispered huskily. “ _No_ _more_. It is time for me to put an end to the darkness that hovers over our family.”

 

“N-no, sister, wait!” it screamed, twisting and floundering in its chains. “The key to helping the Nameless Pharaoh is on my back! If you want to complete the mission of the Tomb Keepers, then you can't kill me! _You need me!_ ”

 

“You are gravely mistaken, abomination. I do not need _you_ ,” Isis droned. The metal of the Millennium Rod chimed through the air as she unsheathed the blade.

 

“I only need the Pharaoh's Memories.”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

After ridding herself of the remaining staff, she had rummaged through the kitchen and rubbed the scarred flesh with curing salt before she vacuum sealed it and placed it in a small cooler for good measure. It was something temporary before she tanned it for preservation. She knew Pegasus had kept a solution on hand for his atrocious costumes in “the wardrobe”, but there would be time to explore that later.

 

She imagined scraping grime and grit from her heart as she scrubbed the blood from her skin, red rust blending with the scalding water and disappearing down the white marble drain. As she ran her hands through her hair and looked to the ceiling, all the barbarities she had endured for the past year faded with the rising steam. When she was certain she had scoured all the filth, she turned off the faucet and hopped into the separate bathtub, an elaborate rock crystal carving cradled on golden legs, and she soaked herself in a blend of oils: lotus, sandalwood, rose, jasmine, and red amber.

 

It was done.

 

It was all done, and for the first time in over a year, she truly felt clean.

 

Isis tried to maintain the sentiment in her head when she cinched the belt of the red bamboo cotton fiber robe at her waist. Sadly, she had nothing else to call her own aside from the Necklace, which would be relinquished soon enough. She had to regretfully burn the last of her original trappings. The gold remained, but it was a tearful goodbye to the Egyptian cotton and simple sandals, and she padded barefoot on the plush carpets as she made her way to the bedroom (she refused to wear the damned pink bunny slippers Pegasus had bought for her and threw them out the bathroom window).

 

There was an ailment within her stomach as she passed by his bed and parted the red lacquered doors to “the wardrobe”, and bile rose in her throat she flipped on the switch. She tried not to linger on the multitude of decorated animal heads, some she had worn and others he had not ( _never again)_ the opportunity to introduce. She ignored the leather, the fur, the scales, the beads, the sequins, the rubber on the hangers. She looked and felt for cotton, taking from various outfits and mixing to create attire that wasn't outright tasteless—a challenge in that she couldn't find a single skirt or dress that extended more than four inches past her crotch.

 

 _Bastard_.

 

The shoe selection was even more scarce, and she settled on taking one pair of Chelsea boots, one pair of wedges, and one pair of kitten heels (the lowest height of the bunch). All were in black, and the last pair adorned her feet as she looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a black and green tartan skirt with a navy blouse, but even that presented a challenge in appearing “casual”, as Pegasus always picked off the first three buttons on top of all the shirts. Though not as full as Miss Valentine had been in the bust, she still had enough herself to cause a distraction, and she sighed as she buttoned the sleeves around her wrist. It would have to do for now.

 

“It looks nice on you,” came a familiar voice in an unfamiliar tone, a shy whisper.

 

A shimmer ran across the Millennium Necklace as Isis looked at the corner of the full length mirror, to the right over her shoulder.

 

“I see you figured it out after all,” Isis said flatly. The timid woman stepped forward with a small nod, one hand across her body and squeezing just above the elbow of her other arm. The blonde hair cascaded over the peach-colored face and framed the Victorian dress, and Isis couldn't restrain her grimace.

 

Blue was not Mai's color.

 

The cut of the dress itself also did not fit her, quite literally, as her cleavage was prepared to pour out at any given moment. Though, there had been some function to the flaw. A twinkle crossed the pupil of the Millennium Necklace and Isis recalled the moment she had struck Pegasus with the fire extinguisher. Not only did he lose his wine glass and his nerves, but he had also lost the keys to the shackles on the altar, flinging out of the sleeves of his robe and landing smack dab in the center of Mai's ample bosom.

 

The Necklace showed her more. Mai— _Cecelia,_ watching in shock as Isis walked away before she looked down and saw the literal keys to her escape. With some effort, she had worked them out with her teeth and spent several attempts trying to insert the gilded metal into the small hole on her left wrist until she overcame the irritant to her enamel and turned it with the exaggerated movement of her jaw. Once that hand was free, the other limbs followed suit, and Isis was mildly amused to see her spit on Pegasus' corpse as she passed him.

 

Isis hadn't assumed too much to their marriage, never curious enough nor interested in looking into that part of the past, but if Cecelia's reaction was anything to go by, it appeared Maximillion Pegasus hadn't really changed since her passing.

 

“I... I escaped,” she said meekly.

 

“I see,” Isis droned, posture stiffening as she stared at Ma—Cecelia's reflection in the mirror.

 

“You... took care of some things in the castle,” Cecelia said, almost a question but more of an observation. She had heard the thumping from the security wing and came across Croquet's body, and there was no one else to be found.

 

“Yes,” Isis nodded stiffly.

 

“You brought me back,” Cecelia whispered. She didn't seem angry or upset with her, but she was understandably beside herself. “Why?”

 

“I needed the Millennium Eye,” Isis explained with a shrug. “Your husband was too powerful with it, and Fate me showed that your resurrection would weaken him so I could take it.”

 

Cecelia's lips parted and her eyes shifted side to side, trying to make sense of the words.

 

“So... this all has to do with magic,” she finally said.

 

“To put it simply, yes,” Isis replied, turning on her heel to stare at the woman as opposed to her image in the mirror.

 

“Are you going to stay here?” Cecelia asked.

 

“No, I'm leaving,” Isis said, gesturing to the duffel bag, cooler, and suitcase on the bed. “I am done here.”

 

“Can I go with you?”

 

“So I may entertain the notion of you strangling me in my sleep as retribution for bringing you back to the material plain and watching me murder your husband?” Isis scoffed. “No, thank you. I am aware the amenities in the castle may sustain a crew of twenty for up to five years unattended. As a single person, you could live quite happily for longer duration without worry of intrusion.”

 

“But I don't want to stay here!” Cecelia mewled, holding her hands out to Isis in desperation. “I hate this place! I can't look at anything without—”

 

She grabbed fistfuls of her hair and struggled to compose herself, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes.

 

“Let me guess, he told you he _loved_ me,” she said lowly, golden hair hiding her face from view as she worked her fists at the sides of her scalp. “I was his _angel,_ and when I left, he was lost without me. He couldn't even stand the _idea_ that I had left him all alone in the world. Something like that?”

 

“... Yes,” Isis replied lamely. She was accustomed to hearing bitterness on Mai's tongue, but not the sorrow Cecelia had conjured with her lips.

 

“He claimed to be quite distraught when the illness took you,” Isis added.

 

“I fell ill? _That's_ what he told people?” she choked with a sour laugh, shaking her head before she lifted it to meet Isis' gaze. “Well, I guess that's not entirely untrue. That sort of thing is expected when you swallow a quart of bleach.”

 

Isis' brow furrowed. She wasn't sure what the make of the tears streaming down Ma—Cecelia's face.

 

“He was _terrible_!” she sobbed. “Even when we were kids, I just felt something was _off_ with him. But my parents said they needed the 'connections' or they would lose the estate, and they sold me off on my sixteenth birthday, like I was a head of cattle!”

 

Isis averted her eyes to the side, pursing her lips in thought.

 

The Necklace had not shown her having this conversation with Cecelia.

 

Then again, she had never asked it to. She had been too focused on her vengeance against the guards and the Dark Thing. Once the ritual had been completed, she had cast Mai aside with no real mind to Cecelia.

 

But she was here.

 

“He treated me like a _doll_ ,” Cecelia continued, thumping her fist against her thigh and staring frightfully into Isis eyes. “If I acted even a _little_ _bit_ out of line of what he wanted, what he 'envisioned', he would bribe his psychiatrist with a fat check and sneak prescription drugs in my food. I was walking around fried out of my mind half the time!”

 

Isis looked down at her feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the confession. She hadn't bothered to ask the Necklace to show her that either.

 

 _What_ _is_ _this_ _feeling?_ _It makes me_ _sick_ _._

 

“I was miserable _every day_. I lived in fear _every day_ ,” Cecelia cried. “Every morning, I would wake in dread of what he had planned for me that day. Every night, I would go to sleep desperately hoping that I wouldn't wake up! I lived like this for _years_ , and there was no one I could turn to! My own parents wouldn't listen to me, and his parents were just happy to have him out of their hair. I was _trapped_ here!”

 

Isis still couldn't bring herself to look at the woman's face. To hear these words from Mai's mouth, in that voice, but in that way—

 

“I wanted to get away from him so badly. I wanted to _die_ ,” Cecelia whimpered, wiping at the steady stream of tears with the back of her hands. “But Pegasus would lock up the pills, the knives, any utensils— he even had the servants put the sheets away so I wouldn't hang myself. But he had an important business meeting somewhere in Germany and he thought he covered all his bases, so he left me alone for that weekend thinking I was going to be 'okay'. I searched and I searched, and _finally_ , I found the only thing on the island he didn't keep out of my reach. So I helped myself to whatever was under the kitchen sink.”

 

Isis blinked and cradled her chin in her hand. That would explain why Pegasus had kept locks on the cupboards, then...

 

“I don't come from the most religious family, but I spent a long time worrying what was going to happen to me if I killed myself,” Cecelia sniffled. “I was taught as a child that something terrible awaits you if you take your own life, but after being married to Maximillion...”

 

She tried to steady herself and wiped the last of her tears with the palm of her hand, face red and eyes puffy, and Isis couldn't help but notice a glint of blue underneath the wet amethyst.

 

“It's a useless sentiment to fear Hell once you realize you've been living there the whole time,” Cecelia choked, looking down and wringing her hands. “I-I... I know we're strangers. I don't know anything about you aside from you bringing me back... a-and I don't know how much you really know about me beyond what I just told you, but you're the first woman I've seen in _years_. I was _all_ _alone_ here, and I don't _want_ to be left alone here! There are too many painful memories!”

 

She surged forward to embrace Isis, but the Egyptian stepped back and raised her hands in a defensive posture. Cecelia stopped with a wince and bit her lip, tears returning as she cradled her elbows in her hands and folded over herself.

 

“He was... like a sick child,” she cried, voice hoarse with a momentary squeak. “I wasn't a _person_ to him. I was a _toy._ He would come up with all these... these terrible _games_... and he'd... he'd...”

 

Cecelia fell to her knees and curled into a ball at Isis' feet, tears splashing against tan toes and blonde hair spilling to the floor.

 

“You don't know what it was like having to live with a man like him!”

 

As she shook and sniveled, Isis felt a pang, an overwhelming soreness overtake her chest, and she closed her eyes.

 

For once, _just this once_ , she asked the Necklace for a moment of silence.

 

Cecelia's weeping hitched when she felt a hand settle over her head.

 

“Yes, I do,” Isis sighed. She ran her hand through the golden tresses and placed her fingers under the woman's chin, urging her to look up.

 

“... You can come with me.”

 

There was another feeling that spread through Isis' chest when she saw the wetness in the amethyst eyes shift from heartache to hope, and she forced it down into her stomach.

 

She never thought she'd see hope in those eyes again.

 

“Grab _one_ duffel bag and fill it with what you need,” Isis instructed. “After that, we are raiding the safe for all its contents and setting this hellhole on fire.”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Golden rays seeped over the billowing clouds, the island quickly falling out of their view as the sun rose over the pink horizon. Cecelia didn't ask as to why there appeared to be a large, shadowy mass of snakes(?) emerging from the castle's ruins as they sailed away.

 

“... Thank you for killing him,” Cecelia said quietly.

 

“Please don't thank me,” Isis said without looking at her, keeping her eyes trained to the west as she gripped the steering wheel of the skylounge yacht. “I didn't do it for _you_.”

 

Cecelia flinched, embracing herself like she caught a draft and bit her lip.

 

“... Even so, I am still grateful,” Cecelia said, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I can sleep easier at night knowing he's not alive.”

 

Isis hummed in agreement, but the strange feeling bubbled back into her chest with the thought.

 

“... I am sorry you had to witness that, Cecelia.”

 

“Please, don't call me Cecelia.”

 

Isis blinked and her lower lip cocked in curiosity, peeking at the blonde in her peripheral view.

 

“Cecelia is dead... has been dead for a long time,” she said with a hand to her chest, her tone as though she had passed long before she decided to take her life. “I want to be someone who is _alive_. What was the name of the woman who had this body?”

 

The breath stalled in Isis' chest and she bit the lining of her cheek, thankful she had the wide open ocean as a distraction from all else.

 

“Mai,” she finally said. The name was foreign to her tongue. She had always been so formal...

 

“Mai Valentine.”

 

“Then call me Mai Valentine,” said Mai, clasping her hands across her chest and closing her eyes. “I know I don't deserve it, but... it is because of _you_ that I have a second chance, to start over with a clean slate.”

 

Isis instinctively flinched when Mai reached out to touch her, blue eyes narrowing and hand raising to bat at the wrist, but she halted when she caught Mai's unguarded smile. The violet eyes (or were they more of an indigo now?) softened, and supple, pink lips parted in understanding, saying nothing but speaking volumes as gentle fingers curved reassuringly on her shoulder.

 

“We _both_ have that chance, Isis,” Mai said warmly. “[We don't have to worry about him anymore.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rd9mE4YPcLU)”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, how sweet. The sun is rising, it's a new day, they're getting a new start and—
> 
> Huh? What do you mean Isis wasn't acting like herself? She was completely out of character here? You really think so? 
> 
> … Hmm. Y'know what? You're totally right. How could I have been so careless with my writing? Mi scusi. I'll fix it for you in the epilogue.
> 
> … What?
> 
> Oh, you thought this chapter was the ending? 
> 
> Tsk, tsk. What do you take me for? I wouldn't leave you with such a trite resolution. You stuck around this far. I think you deserve a far more chilling— I mean, thrilling finale.
> 
> Stay tuned for Friday, my friends.


	5. E P I L O G U E

_I don't know what you've done to me_

_But I know this much is true_

_I wanna do bad things with you_

 

Jace Everett, _Bad Things_

 

**E P I L O G U E**

 

 

"It's a nice feeling, isn't it?" Mai asked from Isis' lap.

 

"What is?" Isis hummed. She stroked the hair behind Mai's ear, taking a small sip of wine as she gazed through the window of the cabin at the waning moon.

 

"Freedom," Mai whispered, nuzzling Isis' thigh and tracing circles on her knee. "Being free."

 

Isis took another sip at that, moonlight running across the Necklace. Free from the island, the castle.

 

 _Him_.

 

Sapphire eyes stared at each star in the sky, taking every shine, every little dot into account.

 

Threads and wires.

 

The web of life.

 

"I agree," Isis lied.

 

Certainty was better than freedom.

 

They continued their idle conversation. The wine from the mini-bar went down like water, and when Mai rose from her lap to retrieve another bottle, Isis couldn't help but notice how the moonlight spilled through the windows and framed the long, golden strands. It appeared as though there was a halo about Mai's person, and Isis allowed herself to smile. She looked far lovelier in the silk lavender slip rather than that awful blue dress they tossed overboard.

 

Though, the color still felt off...

 

They poured more glasses for themselves and talked, and laughed, and talked some more. Isis had finally found something in white hidden aboard the yacht, a simple bikini and a sheer fabric robe with gold at the hems. It was a poor substitute for her original dresses, but there would be plenty of time to get to that when she docked at the next port with Mai.

 

The Necklace thrummed at her collar, and they finished off the second bottle.

 

It was Isis' turn to fetch the wine. Walking over had been simple enough, but when she swayed around the bar to come back to their resting place on the plush, polar bear skin rug in the center of the room, the weight of the bottle in her hand was enough to alter her balance. When her foot caught the edge of the carnivore's head, she stumbled sideways with a drunken yelp and the bottle flew across the cabin, crashing against one of the windows.

 

"Isis!" Mai gasped when she saw the other woman stagger and land with a hard thud on her face. "Are you all right?"

 

Mai rushed to her side and placed her hands atop Isis' shoulders, but quickly pulled back when Isis hissed, flinched, turned with a curled lip and a raised hand to defend herself. The tanned hand stopped and frantic blue eyes blinked as soon as she looked into shining indigo. Mai was shocked at first, but the expression passed and was replaced with something warmer, something kinder, something sad, and she reached out gently for her face.

 

"He touched you too, didn't he?" she whispered.

 

"... Yes."

 

Isis couldn't bring herself to allow the soft, peach-toned fingers to graze her cheek, and she winced again. Mai brought her hand back to her chest, but she moved further in to Isis, scooting on her knees, and stopped within a hand's length.

 

"I'm sorry," Mai apologized.

 

For startling her.

 

For what he had done.

 

"... It's fine," Isis whispered sharply, curling her hands against her thighs.

 

The former, not the latter.

 

 _Never_ the latter.

 

"... I'll go clean that up," Mai offered with a small smile, gesturing her head to the sticky red mess against the window. "And I'll get the next bottle, okay?"

 

"No more," Isis said, leaning on one hand as she rubbed her temple with the other. "For yourself, do as you please, but I think I am finished for the night."

 

That, too, was a lie, and they each took part in more. Isis couldn't remember what they had been talking about a minute ago, but it must have been something amusing. They couldn't stop giggling, chattering, tittering, and somewhere at the end, when the bottle was empty and they had stopped laughing, they found their foreheads leaning against the other's, copper fingers twitching nervously within centimeters of alabaster, raven strands melding with gold, sapphire meeting amethyst.

 

"I... I'm okay if you want to touch me," Mai uttered, small, heart-shaped lips a breath's distance away, blonde eyelashes fluttering against a tan cheek.

 

The Necklace throbbed, and Isis flinched.

 

_Be silent._

 

"O-or not. I..." Mai stuttered as she moved away, self-consciously brushing a lock of hair behind her ear and looking to the polar bear skin rug with a sudden blush. Isis couldn't resist licking her lips when she saw Mai bite her own, one side plump and inviting while the other half of the heart hid behind a pearly tooth.

 

"I-I understand if you don't—"

 

[Bronze descended on ivory, grasping, weaving desperately underneath gold, and fell in a tangled mass on the white hide.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4g7q18PbsdQ)

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Mai was ravishing in moonlight.

 

 _Ravished_ in moonlight.

 

Yet, still, Isis could not shake the feeling that the blue glow looked more ominous than suiting as she slept beside her and combed her fingers through her hair. It may have been Mai's body, but this was not Mai. At least, it was not the Mai she had been familiar with, though she supposed that was an unfair assessment. They hadn't met under the most ideal circumstances...

 

The Necklace glowed, _burned_ at her collar, and she traced along the engraving of the eye.

 

There was a gentleness to this Mai, a tenderness Isis had not known from her or any other. It caused temptation, an addicting ache within her, to feel her writhing beneath her palms, to feel her pants against her ear, to feel the vibrations of her throat under her lips as she moaned her name in a voice that was so familiar, yet unfamiliar.

 

 _Aah, Isis_.

 

She could grow accustomed to that sound.

 

The Necklace whispered.

 

For so long, Isis had been dancing along the strings beset by The Terrifying One, following the path that had been laid for her, for _all,_ but when she looked under every fallen branch, turned over every stone, searched for any surprises, _hoping_ for a detail she had missed or misunderstood, she did not find it. All was where it should have been and would be.

 

She did not see Mai in her future.

 

But this want, this _desire_ within her, to have her, to hold her, to _possess_ her, it was so new, so devastating, so...

 

 _Breathtaking_.

 

Isis closed her eyes, and she clenched her fist around the hot gold.

 

She did not see Mai in her future.

 

Such a notion was not only unfeasible; it was intolerable.

 

 _Uncertainty_ , she would not abide.

 

Amethyst had opened with a snap as copper coiled around alabaster. There was something exciting about the way she wiggled and thumped under her thighs, trying and failing to pry the fingers away from her neck. Even the little choked sounds and whimpers, almost like _chirping_ , sparked something deep within her.

 

_"Why?"_

 

It broke her heart, seeing all that blue replace the pink at her cheeks.

 

When the sharks came later, there was a scarlet tinge to the water lapping at the side of the yacht, so very much like the wine at her lips. The light of the rising sun bounced off the vermilion waves, a sparkle far brighter than the glowing pulse of the Necklace at her collar and the flicker of amber behind her eyes.

 

Pegasus had worn it well, but Isis thought red looked quite impressive on her.

 

_[Well, well, I think we finally found your color, Miss Valentine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuXTdcouCpY) _

 

__


End file.
